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alifornia 

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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


/ 


Ill';     I.OWICRKI)      rilK     CANDI.KS     AND     DUKVV     RACK 


THE    GAMBLER 


B  IHovcl 


BY 


KATHERINE   CECIL  THURSTON 

AUTHOR  OH 

"THE   MASQUERADER"    ETC. 


NEW   YORK    AND    LONDON 

HARPER   &    BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 

1905 


Copyright,  1905,  by  Katiiekine  Cecil  Thurston. 


.7//  rights  reserved. 
Published  September,  1905. 


TO 
THE     MEMORY     OF 

MY   MOTHER 


694333 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


'he    lowered   the   candles   and    drew    back  Frcnitispiece 

''YOU   WANT  TO  MARRY  ME?'   SHE  SAID"      .       .       .  Facing  p.    1 30 

"come    here    AND    LET's    BE    COMFORTABLE'"     .  "            298 

"can    you    TOLERATE    SUCH    AN    EARLY   VISITOR?' 

SHE    asked"           "           322 

"'l 1   COULD  NOT   REPAY  IT   BEFORE  JANUARY ' "  "           39O 


li  i 


1 1  « 


OH,  SOMETHING,  I  AM   AFRAID,  THAT  WOULDN  T 

INTEREST    you'" "  426 

"she  was   SPEEDING   DOWN   THE    LONG  CORRIDOR 

TO    THE    stairs" "  444 

"she    DREW  BACK   QUICKLY  AS  THE   REST  OF  THE 

PARTY  CAME  HURRYING  TO  THE  CARRIAGE"  .  "  454 


THE    GAMBLER 


THE    GAMBLER 


AN  eight-mile  drive  over  rain-washed  Irish  roads 
i  in  the  quick-falling  dusk  of  autumn  is  an  ex- 
perience trying  to  the  patience,  even  to  the  temper, 
of  the  average  Saxon.  Yet  James  Milbanke  made 
neither  comment  nor  objection  as  mile  after  mile 
of  roadway  spun  away  like  a  ribbon  behind  him,  as 
the  mud  rose  in  showers  from  the  wheels  of  the  old- 
fashioned  trap  in  which  he  sat  and  the  half -trained 
mare  between  the  shafts  swerved  now  to  the  right, 
now  to  the  left,  her  nervous  glance  caught  by  the 
snectral  shapes  of  the  Vjlackthorn  hedges  or  the 
Tnotionless  forms  of  the  wayside  donkeys  lying 
asleep  in  the  ditches.  Perhaps  this  stoicism  was  the 
outcome  of  an  innate  power  to  endure;  perhaps  it  was 
a  merely  negative  quality  illustrating  the  lack  of 
that  doubtful  blessing,  imagination.  Whatever  its 
origin  it  stood  him  in  good  stead  as  he  covered  the 
long  stretch  of  flat  country  that  links  the  south- 
eastern seaport  of  Muskeere  with  the  remote  fishing 
village  of  Carrigmore  and  its  outlying  district  of 
Orristovvn. 

His  outlook  upon  Ireland,  like  his  outlook  upon 
life,  was  untingcd  by  humor.  He  had  seen  no 
ground  for  amusement  in  the  fact  that  he  had  been 

I 


THE    GAMBLER 

the  only  passenger  to  alight  from  the  train  at  the 
Muskeere  terminus,  and  consequently  no  ground  for 
loneliness  in  the  sight  of  the  solitary  vehicle,  dimly 
silhouetted  against  the  murky  sky,  that  had  awaited 
his  coming.  The  ludicrous  points  of  the  scene — the 
primitive  railway  station  with  its  insufficient  flicker- 
ing lights,  its  little  knot  of  inquisitive  idlers,  its  one 
porter,  slovenly,  amiable,  incorrigibly  lazy,  all  con- 
tributing the  unconscious  background  to  his  own 
neat,  conventional,  totally  alien  personality,  had  left 
him  untouched. 

The  only  individual  to  whom  the  picture  had 
made  its  appeal  had  been  the  solitary  porter.  As 
he  relieved  Milbanke  of  his  valise  and  rug  on  the 
step  of  the  first-class  carriage  an  undeniable  twinkle 
had  gleamed  in  his  eyes. 

"Fine  soft  night,  sir!"  he  had  volunteered.  "Tim 
Burke  is  outside  for  you."  ' 

For  a  second  Milbanke  had  stared  at  him  m  a 
mixture  of  doubt  and  displeasure.  A  month's  pil- 
grimage to  the  ancient  Celtic  landmarks  had  left  him, 
as  it  has  left  many  a  Saxon  before  him,  unlearned 
in  that  most  interesting  and  most  inscrutable  of  all 
survivals — the  Celt  himself.  He  had  surveyed  the 
face  of  the  porter  cautiously  and  half  distrustfully; 
then  he  had  made  a  guarded  reply. 

"I  am  certainly  expecting  a — a  conveyance,"  he 
had  admitted.  "But  I  have  never  heard  the  name 
of  Tim  Burke. 

"Why,  thin,  Tim  has  heard  of  youT*  the  other  had 
replied,  with  unruffled  suavity.  "  Isn't  it  the  English 
gintleman  that's  goin'  to  stop  wid  Mr.  Asshlin  over  at 
Orristown  that  you  are  ?  Sure  Tim  told  me  all  about 
you;  an'  I  knew  you  the  minute  I  sat  eyes  on  you — 
let  alone  there  was  no  wan  else  in  the  train."     With- 

2 


THE     GAMBLER 

out  more  ado  he  had  hoisted  Milbanke's  belongings  to 
his  shoulder  and  lounged  out  of  the  station, 

"Here  you  are,  Tim,  man!"  he  had  exclaimed,  as 
he  had  deposited  the  articles  one  after  another  under 
the  seat  of  the  trap  with  a  lofty  disregard  of  their 
owner.  "  'Tis  a  soft  night  an'  a  long  road  you  have 
before  you.  Is  it  cold  the  mare  is  ?"  He  had  paused 
to  eye  the  impatient  young  animal  before  him  with 
the  Irishman's  unfailing  appreciation  of  horseflesh. 

Here  Milbanke,  feeling  that  some  veiled  reproof 
had  been  suggested,  had  broken  in  upon  the  mono- 
logue. 

"I  hope  I  haven't  injured  the  horse  by  the  delay," 
he  had  said,  hastily.  "The  train  was  exactly  twen- 
ty-two minutes  behind  its  time." 

Then  for  the  first  time  the  old  coachman  had  bent 
down  from  his  lofty  position. 

"An'  sure  what  harm  if  it  was,  sir?"  he  had  ex- 
claimed, voicing  the  hospitality  due  to  his  master's 
guest.  "What  hurry  is  there  at  all — so  long  as  it 
brought  you  safe!" 

"True  for  you,  Tim,"  the  porter  had  interjected, 
softly,  and,  seizing  Milbanke's  arm,  he  had  swung 
him  into  the  trap  precisely  as  he  had  swung  the 
luggage  a  few  seconds  previously. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  he  had  murmured  a  moment 
later.  "Good -night  to  you!  Good-night,  Tim!  Safe 
road!"  And  drawing  back  he  had  looked  on  with 
admiration  while  Burke  had  gathered  up  the  reins 
and  the  mare  had  plunged  forward  into  the  misty, 
sea-scented  night. 

That  had  been  Milbanke's  first  introduction  into 
the  district  where  he  proposed  to  spend  a  week  with 
a  man  he  had  not  seen  for  nearly  thirty  years. 

As  the  trap  moved  forward,  leaving  the  straggling 

3 


THE    GAMBLER 

town  with  its  scattered  lights  far  behind,  his  thoughts, 
temporarily  distracted  by  the  incidents  of  his  arrival, 
reverted  to  the  channel  in  which  they  had  run  dur- 
ing the  greater  part  of  the  day.  Again  his  mind 
returned  to  the  period  of  his  college  career  when,  as  a 
quiet  student,  he  had  been  drawn  by  the  subtle  at- 
traction of  contrast  into  a  friendship  with  Denis 
Asshlin,  the  young  Irishman  whose  spirit,  whose 
enthusiasms,  whose  exuberant  joy  in  life  had  shone 
in  such  vivid  colors  beside  his  own  neutral-tinted 
personality.  His  thoughts  passed  methodically  from 
those  eager,  early  days  to  the  more  sober  ones  that 
had  followed  Asshlin's  recall  to  Ireland,  and  thence 
onward  over  the  succeeding  tale  of  years.  He  re- 
viewed his  own  calm  if  somewhat  lonely  manhood ; 
his  aimless  delving  first  into  one  branch  of  learning, 
then  into  another;  his  gradually  dawning  interest  in 
the  study  of  archaeology — an  interest  that,  fostered 
by  ample  leisure  and  ample  means,  had  become  the 
temperate  and  well-ordered  passion  of  his  life.  The 
retrospect  was  pleasant.  There  is  always  an  agree- 
able sensation  to  a  man  of  Milbanke's  temperament 
in  looking  back  upon  unruffled  times.  He  became 
oblivious  of  the  ruts  in  the  road  and  of  the  mare's 
erratic  movements  as  he  traced  the  course  of  events 
to  the  point  where,  two  months  before,  the  discovery 
of  a  dozen  platters  of  pure  gold  and  as  many  drinking- 
vessels,  embedded  in  a  bog  in  the  County  Tyrone, 
had  turned  the  eyes  of  the  archaeological  world  upon 
Ireland;  and  he,  with  other  students  of  antiquity, 
had  been  bitten  with  the  desire  to  see  the  unique  and 
priceless  objects  for  himself. 

The  journey  to  Tyrone  had  been  a  pleasant  ex- 
perience; and  it  was  there,  under  the  mild  exaltation 
of  the  genuine  find,  that  it  had  suddenly  been  sug- 

4 


THE    GAMBLER 

gested  to  his  mind  that  certain  ancient  ruins,  includ- 
ing a  remarkable  specimen  of  the  Irish  Round  Tower, 
were  to  be  found  on  the  southeast  coast  not  three 
miles  from  the  property  of  his  old  college  friend. 

Whether  it  was  the  archaeological  instinct  to  res- 
urrect the  past,  or  the  merely  human  wish  to  relive 
his  own  small  portion  of  it,  that  had  prompted  him 
to  write  to  Asshlin  must  remain  an  open  question. 
It  is  sufficient  that  the  letter  was  written  and  de- 
spatched and  that  the  answer  came  in  hot  haste. 

It  had  reached  him  in  the  form  of  a  telegram 
running  as  follows: 

"  Come  at  once  and  stay  for  a  year.  Stagnating  to  death 
in  this  isolation.  Asshlin." 

An  hour  later  another  and  a  more  voluminous  message 
had  followed,  in  which,  as  if  by  an  after  -  thought, 
he  had  been  given  the  necessary  directions  as  to  the 
means  of  reaching  Orristown. 

It  was  at  the  point  where  his  musings  reached 
Asshlin's  telegrams  that  he  awakened  from  his 
revery  and  looked  about  him.  For  the  first  time  a 
personal  interest  in  the  country  through  which  he 
was  passing  stirred  him.  He  realized  that  the  salt 
sting  of  the  sea  had  again  begun  to  mingle  with  the 
night  mist,  and  judged  thereby  that  the  road  had 
again  emerged  upon  the  coast.  He  noticed  that  the 
hedges  had  become  sparser;  that  wherever  a  tree 
loomed  out  of  the  dusk  it  bore  the  mark  of  the  sea 
gales  in  a  certain  grotesqueness  of  shape. 

This  was  the  isolation  of  which  Asshlin  had  spoken! 

With  an  impulse  extremely  uncommon  to  him, 
he  turned  in  his  seat  and  addressed  the  silent  old 
coachman  beside  him.  "Has  your  master  altered 
much  in  thirty  years?"  he  asked. 

5 


THE    GAMBLER 

There  was  silence  for  a  while.  Old  Burke,  with 
the  deliberation  of  his  class,  liked  to  weigh  his  words 
before  giving  them  utterance. 

"Is  it  Mister  Dinis  changed?"  he  repeated  at  last. 
Then  almost  immediately  he  corrected  himself. 
"Sure  'tis  Mister  Asshlin  I  ought  to  be  sayin',  sir. 
But  the  ould  name  slips  out.  Though  the  poor 
master  is  gone  these  twenty-nine  year — the  Lord 
have  mercy  on  him! — I  can  niver  git  it  into  me  head 
that  'tis  to  Mister  Dinis  we  ought  to  be  lookin'." 

More  than  once  during  his  brief  stay  in  Ireland 
Milbanke  had  been  confronted  with  this  annihilation 
of  time  in  the  Celtic  mind,  and  Burke's  statement 
aroused  no  surprise. 

"Has  he  changed?"  he  asked  again,  in  his  dry, 
precise  voice. 

Burke  was  silent,  while  the  mare  pulled  hard  on 
the  reins.  And  having  regained  his  mastery  over 
her  he  looked  down  on  his  companion. 

"Is  it  changed?"  he  said.  "Sure  why  wouldn't 
he  be  changed  ?  With  the  father  gone  —  an'  the 
wife  gone  —  an'  the  children  growin'  up.  Sure  'tis 
changed  we  all  are  an'  goin'  down  the  hill  fast,  God 
help  us!" 

Milbanke  glanced  up  sharply. 

"Children?"  he  said.     "Children?" 

Burke  turned  in  his  seat. 

"Sure  'tisn't  to  have  the  ould  stock  die  out  you'd 
be  wantin' ?"  he  said.  "You'd  travel  the  round  of 
the  county  before  you'd  see  the  like  of  Mister  Dinis's 
children — though  'tis  girls  they  are." 

"Girls?"  Milbanke's  mind  was  disturbed  by  the 
thought  of  children.  Denis  Asshlin  with  children! 
The  idea  was  incongruous. 

"Two  of  'em!"  said  Burke,  laconically. 

6 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Dear  me!  Dear  me!  And  yet  I  suppose  it's 
only  natural.     How  old  are  they?" 

Burke  flicked  the  mare  lightly  and  the  trap  lurched 
forward. 

"Miss  Clodagh  is  turned  fifteen,"  he  said,  "and 
the  youngster  is  goin'  on  ten.  'Twas  ten  year  back, 
come  next  December,  that  she  was  bom.  Sure  I 
remimber  it  well.  An'  six  weeks  after  Mister  Dinis 
was  followin'  her  poor  mother  to  the  church-yard 
bey  ant  in  Carrigmore.  The  Lord  keep  us  all!  'Twas 
she  was  the  nice,  quiet  creature — and  Miss  Nance  is 
the  livin'  stamp  of  her.  But,  God  bless  us,  'tis  Miss 
Clodagh  that's  her  father's  child."  He  added  this 
last  remark  with  a  force  that  at  the  time  conveyed 
nothing,  though  it  was  destined  to  recur  later  to 
Milbanke's  mind. 

"But  your  master?"  the  stranger  repeated.  The 
momentary  diversion  of  the  children  had  ceased  to 
hold  him.  Again  the  vision  of  Asshlin — Asshlin  the 
impetuous  hero  of  past  days — had  risen  intangible, 
mirage-like,  and  yet  compelling  from  his  native 
stretch  of  rugged  country. 

But  Burke  made  no  reply.  All  his  energies  were 
directed  to  the  guiding  of  the  mare  down  a  steep 
incline.  For  a  space  Milbanke  was  conscious  of  a 
dangerously  accelerated  pace;  then  the  white  piers 
of  a  large  gate  sped  past  them,  and  he  was  aware  of 
the  black  shadow  of  overhanging  trees. 

Something  unusual,  something  faintly  prophetic 
and  only  vaguely  comprehended,  touched  his  pro- 
saic nature  on  that  moment.  He  was  entering  on  a 
new  phase  of  life.  Without  conscious  preparation 
he  was  to  see  the  world  from  a  new  point  of  view. 
With  a  fresh  spur  of  anxious  curiosity  he  turned 
again  to  Burke. 

7 


THE     GAMBLER 

"But  your  master?"  he  asked.  "Has  he  changed 
much?     Will  I  see  a  great  alteration?" 

For  an  added  space  the  old  man  remained  mute, 
while  he  piloted  the  trap  up  the  sweep  of  avenue 
with  that  irresistible  desire  for  a  fine  finish  that  ani- 
mates every  Irish  driver.  Then  as  they  spun  round 
the  final  curve,  as  the  great,  square  house  loomed 
out  of  the  mist,  he  replied  without  slackening  his  vigi- 
lance. 

"Is  it  changed?"  he  repeated,  half  to  himself. 
"  Sure  if  the  Almighty  doesn't  change  a  man  in  thirty 
year  it  stands  to  rason  that  the  divil  must." 


II 

To  English  ears  the  reply  was  curious.  Yet  with 
all  its  vagueness,  all  its  racial  inclination  tow- 
ards high  color,  it  held  the  germ  of  truth  that  fre- 
quently lies  in  such  utterances.  With  native  acute- 
ness  it  threw  out  a  suggestion  without  betraying  a 
confidence. 

An  instant  after  it  was  spoken  there  was  a  final 
flourish  of  the  whip,  a  scrape  of  wheels  on  the  wet 
gravel,  a  straining  and  creaking  of  damp  leather, 
and  the  trap  drew  up  before  the  big  white  house.  Mil- 
banke  caught  a  fleeting  suggestion  of  a  shabby  door 
with  pillars  on  which  rested  a  square  balcony  of 
rusty  iron — a  number  of  unlighted  windows — a  gen- 
eral air  of  grandeur  and  decay  curiously  blended. 
Then  the  hall  door  opened  and  a  voice  whose  first 
note  roused  a  hundred  memories  rolled  out  across 
the  darkness. 

"  Is  that  you,  James?  Come  in!  Come  in!  Keep 
the  mare  in  hand,  Burke.  Steady  now,  James.  Let 
me  hold  the  rug  and  give  you  a  hand  down.  She's 
a  little  rogue  and  might  be  making  a  bolt  for  her 
stable.  Well,  you're  as  welcome  as  the  flowers  in 
May.     Come  in!     Come  in!" 

It  was  over  in  a  flash — the  arrival,  the  tempestuous 
greeting,  the  hard  grip  of  Asshlin's  hand — and  the 
two  men  were  facing  each  other  in  the  candle-ht  hall. 

"  Well,  you're  welcome,  James."     Asshlin  repeated. 

9 


THE    GAMBLER 

"You're  welcome.  Let  me  have  a  look  at  you.  I 
declare,  it's  younger  you  are."  He  laid  his  hand 
heavily  on  the  other's  shoulder  and  uttered  this 
obvious  untruth  with  all  the  warmth  and  conviction 
that  Irish  imagination  and  Irish  hospitality  could 
suggest. 

"  But  you're  perished  after  the  long  drive!  Burke," 
he  called  through  the  open  door.  "Burke,  when 
you're  done  with  the  mare  come  round  and  carry 
up  Mr.  Milbanke's  baggage.  Now,  James."  He 
wheeled  round  again,  catching  up  a  silver  candle- 
stick from  the  hall-table.  "Now,  if  you  come  up- 
stairs, I'll  show  you  where  we're  going  to  billet  you." 

With  long,  hasty  steps  he  crossed  the  hall,  his  tall 
figure  casting  gaunt  shadows  on  the  bare  and  lofty 
wall. 

"We're  a  trifle  unsophisticated  here,"  he  went  on, 
with  a  loud,  hard  laugh.  "But  at  least  we'll  give 
you  enough  to  eat  and  a  bed  to  lie  on.  After  all,  a 
decent  dinner  and  a  warm  welcome  are  the  bone  and 
sinew  of  hospitality  the  world  over.  Unless  they 
include  a  drop  of  something  to  put  life  into  a  man — " 
He  paused,  turning  round  upon  his  guest. 

"By  Jupiter,  that  reminds  me!  Have  a  small 
drink  before  we  go  another  step — just  to  take  the 
cold  out  of  you?" 

Milbanke,  who  was  close  behind  him,  glanced  up. 
He  saw  his  host's  face  more  clearly  than  he  had  seen 
it  in  the  hall.  His  answer  when  it  came  was  hurried 
and  a  little  confused. 

"No,  Denis.  No,"  he  said.  "Nothing;  nothing,  I 
assure  you." 

Asshlin  laughed  again. 

"Still  the  same  stickler?"  he  said.  "How  virtues 
cling  to  a  man!"     He  turned  and  began  to  mount 

lo 


THE    GAMBLER 

the  stairs;  then,  reaching  the  first  door  on  the  wide 
corridor,  he  paused. 

"Here's  your  habitation,"  he  said.  "Burke  will 
bring  up  your  belongings  and  get  you  whatever  you 
want.  We  dine  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour."  He 
nodded  and  was  turning  away  when  a  fresh  thought 
struck  him. 

"You  may  as  well  take  this  candle,"  he  said;  "we 
haven't  arrived  at  the  civilization  of  gas.  You  might 
stumble  over  something  looking  for  the  matches. 
This  is  practically  a  bachelor  establishment,  you 
know — without  any  bachelor  comforts."  Once  more 
he  laughed,  and,  thrusting  the  candlestick  into  his 
guest's  hand,  hurried  away  across  the  landing. 

In  silence  Milbanke  took  the  candle,  and,  holding 
it  uncertainly,  waited  until  his  host  had  disappeared. 
Then  slowly  he  turned  and  entered  the  large,  bare 
bedroom.  For  a  moment  he  hesitated,  his  eyes 
wandering  from  the  faded  window-hangings  to  the 
stiff,  old-fashioned  furniture.  Finally,  laying  aside 
the  candlestick,  he  sat  down  upon  the  side  of  the  for- 
bidding-looking four-post  bedstead. 

What  motive  prompted  him  to  the  action  he  could 
scarcely  have  defined.  He  was  strangely  moved 
by  the  scene  just  gone  through — stirred  in  a  manner 
he  could  never  have  anticipated.  For  the  moment 
the  precise,  matter-of-fact  archseologist  was  sub- 
merged, and  the  man  —  dry,  narrow,  pedantic  per- 
haps, but  nevertheless  capable  of  human  sentiments — 
was  uppermost.  The  sight  of  Asshlin,  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  and  the  touch  of  his  hand  had  possessed 
an  alchemy  all  their  own.  The  past,  that  years  of 
separation  had  dimmed  and  tarnished,  had  gleamed 
out  from  the  shadows  and  taken  shape  before  his  eyes. 
The  influence,  the  fascination  that  Asshlin  had  once 

II 


THE    GAMBLER 

exercised  had  touched  him  again  at  the  first  contact 
of  personahties.  But  it  was  an  altered  fascination. 
The  alloy  of  doubt  and  apprehension  had  tainted 
the  old  feeling.  The  question  he  had  been  prompted 
to  ask  Burke  had  answered  itself  at  the  first  glimpse 
of  his  host's  face.  Indisputably,  unmistakably  Assh- 
lin  had  changed. 

And  in  what  lay  that  change?  That  was  the 
question  he  put  to  himself  as  he  sat  on  the  bed  un- 
consciously noting  the  long,  wavering  flicker  of  the 
candle-flame  against  the  faded  wall-paper.  He  had 
aged;  but  the  change  did  not  lie  with  age  alone. 
Something  more  relentless  and  more  corroding  than 
time  had-  drawn  the  worn,  discontented  lines  about 
the  mouth,  kindled  the  unnatural,  restless  glitter  in 
the  eyes,  and  changed  the  note  of  the  voice  from 
spontaneous  vitality  to  recklessness.  The  change 
lay  deeper ;  it  lay  in  the  heart  and  the  soul  of  the 
man  himself. 

With  a  sensation  of  doubt — of  puzzled  doubt  and 
inexplicable  disappointment  —  he  rose,  crossed  the 
room,  and,  drawing  the  curtains  over  the  windows, 
shut  out  the  dark,  damp  night. 


ITT 

IT  was  nearly  three-quarters  of  an  hour  later  that 
a  tremendous  bell,  clanging  through  the  house, 
announced  that  dinner  had  been  served. 

A  wash,  a  change  of  clothes,  and  a  half -hour  of 
solitude  had  done  much  for  Milbanke.  He  felt  more 
normal,  less  alienated  by  unfamiliar  surroundings 
than  he  had  done  in  the  first  confused  moments  that 
had  followed  his  arrival.  The  vague  sense  of  dis- 
appointment and  apprehension,  the  vague  suspicion 
that  Asshlin  had  undergone  an  immense  alteration 
still  tormented  him — as  half-apprehended  evils  ever 
torment  the  minds  of  those  who  see  and  study  life 
as  a  thing  apart  from  human  nature — but  the  imme- 
diate effect  of  the  feeling  was  less  poignant.  He 
unconsciously  found  himself  anticipating  the  next 
glimpse  of  his  old  friend  with  a  touch  of  curiosity, 
and  when  the  announcement  of  dinner  broke  in  u])on 
his  meditations  he  was  surprised  at  the  readiness 
with  which  he  obeyed  the  summons. 

His  first  sight  of  the  dining-room  came  pleasantly 
to  his  senses,  numbed  by  the  long  drive  and  the  bare 
coldness  of  his  bedroom.  It  was  large  and  lofty; 
three  long,  curtained  windows  occupied  one  of  its 
walls,  while  from  the  others  numerous  pictures  of 
dead  and  gone  Asshlins  looked  out  of  their  canvases 
from  tarnished  gold  frames;  the  mahogany  furniture, 
though  of  an  ugly  and  ungainly  type,  was  massive ;  and 

13 


THE    GAMBLER 

over  the  whole  room,  softening  its  severity  and 
hiding  the  ravages  of  time,  lay  the  warm,  red  glow 
of  a  huge  peat  fire  and  the  radiance  of  a  dozen  can- 
dles set  in  heavy  silver  sconces. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  in  the  doorway,  agreeably 
conscious  of  the  mingled  shadow  and  light;  then  his 
attention  was  attracted  to  two  figures  that  already 
occupied  the  room. 

Asshlin  himself  was  standing  by  the  hearth,  his 
back  to  the  fire,  his  feet  apart,  while  by  his  side,  in 
evident  nervous  embarrassment,  stood  a  little  girl 
of  nine  or  ten.  Instantly  he  saw  his  guest  Asshlin 
put  his  hand  on  the  child's  shoulder  and  pushed  her 
forward. 

"  Here's  the  youngest  shoot  on  the  old  tree,  James!" 
he  cried,  with  a  laugh.  "Shake  hands  with  him, 
Nance." 

Somewhat  uncertainly  and  very  shyly  the  child 
looked  up  and  smiled.  She  was  extremely  pretty 
with  a  gypsy-like  prettiness  new  to  Milbanke.  The 
only  attribute  she  had  inherited  from  her  father's 
family  was  the  clear,  olive  skin  that  distinguished  all 
the  Asshlins.  Her  dark-brown  hair,  her  deep -blue 
eyes,  her  peculiarly  winning  smile  had  all  come  to 
her  from  her  dead  mother. 

With  an  embarrassment  almost  equal  to  her  own, 
Milbanke  extended  his  hand.  The  average  modern 
child  he  ignored  with  comfortable  superiority,  but 
this  small  girl  with  her  warm  smile  and  her  over- 
whelming shyness  was  something  infinitely  more 
difficult  to  deal  with.  He  shifted  his  position 
uneasily. 

"How  d'  you  do ?"  he  hazarded.  " How  d'  you  do — 
Nance?" 

The  little  brown  fingers  stirred  nervously  in  his 

14 


THE    GAMBLER 

clasp,  and  llie  child,  still  smilinj^,  made  some  totally 
unintelligible  reply. 

With  a  boisterous  laugh  Asshlin  ended  the  situation. 

"Easily  known  you're  not  a  father,  James!"  he 
cried.  "Why  you'd  have  given  her  a  kiss  and  clinch- 
ed the  business  fifty  seconds  ago.  But  you're 
starving!  Where's  that  scamp  Clo?"  He  turned 
again  to  the  little  girl  who  had  drawn  nearer  to  him 
for  protection. 

She  replied,  Imt  in  so  low  a  tone  that  Milbanke 
heard  nothing.  A  moment  later  he  was  enlightened 
by  Asshlin's  loud  voice. 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  thing  like  that,  James?" 
he  exclaimed.  "What  would  you  say  to  a  daughter 
who  rides  races  on  the  strand  in  the  dark  of  an 
October  evening,  with  the  mist  enough  to  give  your 
horses  their  death?  'Pon  my  word."  His  face 
reddened;  then  suddenly  he  paused  and  laughed. 
"After  all,  what's  bred  in  the  bone — eh,  James?"  he 
said.  "I  believe  I'd  have  done  the  same  myself  at 
fifteen — maybe  worse.  Do  you  remember  that 
night — "  He  checked  himself,  laughed  again,  then 
sighed.  But,  catching  Milbanke's  eye,  he  threw  off 
the  momentary  depression  and  turned  once  more  to 
Nance. 

"Tell  Hannah  we  won't  wait  any  longer,  like  a 
good  child,"  he  said.  "There's  no  counting  on  that 
scalawag." 

As  the  child  went  quickly  to  the  door  he  motioned 
Milbanke  to  the  table  and  took  his  own  place  at  its 
head. 

"No  ceremony  here,"  he  said.  "This  is  Liberty 
Hall."  Taking  up  a  decanter  he  poured  some  sherry 
into  his  friend's  glass;  then,  filling  his  own,  drank  the 
wine  with  evident  satisfaction. 

15 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Gradual  decay  is  what  we're  suffering  from  here, 
James,"  he  went  on.  "Everything  in  this  country  is 
too  damned  old.  The  only  things  in  this  house 
that  have  stood  it  are  the  wine  and  the  silver.  The 
rest — the  woodwork,  myself,  and  the  linen — are  un- 
sound, as  you  see."  He  laughed  again  with  a  shade 
of  sarcasm,  and  pointed  to  where  a  large  hole  in  the 
damask  table-cloth  was  only  partially  concealed  by 
a  splendid  salt-cellar  of  Irish  silver. 

"Accumulated  time  is  the  disease  we're  suffering 
from.  'Tisn  t  the  man  who  uses  his  time  in  this 
country,  but  the  man  who  kills  it,  who's  mastered  the 
art  of  living.  Oh,  we're  a  wonderful  people,  James!" 
He  slowly  drained  and  slowly  refilled  his  glass. 

As  he  laid  down  the  decanter  the  door  opened 
and  Nance  reappeared  and  quietly  took  her  place 
at  table.  Almost  immediately  she  was  followed  by 
Burke  in  a  black  coat  and  wearing  a  clean  collar. 

For  a  second  Milbanke  marvelled  at  the  domestic  ar- 
rangements that  could  compress  a  valet,  a  butler,  and 
a  coachman  into  one  easy-going  personality ;  the  next, 
his  attention  was  directed  to  two  great  dishes  which 
were  placed  respectively  before  his  host  and  himself. 

"Just  hermit's  fare,  James  —  the  product  of  the 
land,"  Asshlin  exclaimed,  as  Burke  uncovered  the 
first  dish,  revealing  a  gigantic  turkey.  "Will  you 
cut  yourself  a  shaving  of  ham?" 

With  a  passing  sense  of  impotence  Milbanke  gazed 
at  the  great,  glistening  ham  that  had  been  laid  before 
him;  then  the  healthy  ai)petite  that  exposure  to  the 
sea-air  had  aroused  lent  him  courage  and  he  picked 
up  a  carving-knife. 

But  the  execution  of  the  ham  was  destined  to 
postponement.  Scarcely  had  he  straightened  him- 
self to  the  task  than  a  quick  bang  of  the  outer  door 

i6 


THli     GAMBLER 

was  followed  by  hasty  stcjjs  across  tlie  hall,  and  the 
last  member  of  the  household  appeared  upon  the 
scene. 

Almost  before  he  saw  her  Milbanke  was  conscious 
of  her  voice — high  and  clear  with  youthful  vitality; 
softened  and  rendered  piquant  by  native  intonation. 

"Oh,  father,  such  a  gallop!  Such  fun!  And  1 
won.  The  bay  cob  was  nowhere  beside  Polly ; 
Larry  was  mad!"  The  string  of  words  was  poured 
forth  in  irresistible  excitement  before  she  had  reached 
the  door.  Once  inside,  she  paused  abruptly,  her 
whole  animated  face  flushing. 

"Oh,  I  forgot,"  she  said,  in  sudden,  naive  dismay. 

She  made  a  quaint  picture  as  she  stood  there  in 
the  light  of  the  candles  and  the  fire,  her  slight, 
immature  figure  arrayed  in  a  worn  and  old-fashioned 
riding-habit,  her  hair  covered  by  a  boy's  cloth  cap, 
her  fingers  clasping  one  of  her  father's  heavy  hunting- 
crops.  But  it  was  neither  dress  nor  attitude  that 
drew  Milbanke's  eyes  from  the  task  before  him — that 
incontinently  sent  his  mind  back  thirty  years  to  the 
days  when  Denis  Asshlin  had  seemed  to  stand  on  the 
threshold  of  life  and  look  forth,  as  by  right  divine, 
upon  the  pageant  of  the  future.  There  was  little 
physical  likeness  between  the  girl  brimming  with 
youth  and  vitality  and  the  hard,  prematurely  aged 
man  sitting  at  the  head  of  the  table;  but  the  blood 
that  glowed  in  the  warm,  olive  skin,  the  spirit  that 
danced  and  gleamed  in  the  hazel  eyes  was  the  same 
blood  and  the  same  spirit  that  had  captivated  Mil- 
banke more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  before. 

The  unlooked-for  sensation  held    him  spellbound. 

But   almost  rudely  the  spell  was  broken.     Scarcely 

had  Clodagh's    exclamation    of  dismay  escaped  her 

than  Asshlin  broke  into  one  of  his  boisterous  laughs. 

»  17 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Forgot,  did  you?"  he  cried.  "Well,  'twas  like 
you.  Come  here!"  He  put  out  his  hand,  and  as  he 
did  so  a  sudden  expression  of  pride  and  affection 
softened  his  hard  face. 

"Here's  the  wildest  scapegrace  of  an  Asshlin 
you've  met  yet,  James,"  he  said. 

"Shake  hands  with  him,  Clo,"  he  added,  in  a  dif- 
ferent voice.  "He's  a  symbol,  if  you  only  knew  it. 
He  stands  for  the  great  glory  we  must  all  leave  be- 
hind us — the  glory  of  youth!"  His  voice  sank  sud- 
denly to  a  lower  key  and  he  raised  his  glass.  "Go 
on,  child!"  he  added,  more  quickly.  "Shake  hands 
with  him — tell  him  he's  welcome." 

But  Clodagh's  flow  of  speech  had  been  silenced. 
With  a  suggestion  of  the  shyness  that  marked  her 
sister,  she  came  round  the  table  as  Milbanke  rose. 

She  made  no  remark  as  she  proffered  her  hand, 
and  she  did  not  smile  as  Nance  had  done.  Instead, 
her  bright  eyes  scanned  his  face  with  a  quick,  ques- 
tioning interest. 

In  return  he  looked  at  her  clear  skin,  her  level 
eyebrows  and  proudly  held  head,  and  his  awkward- 
ness vanished  as  he  took  the  slight,  muscular  hand 
still  cold  from  the  night  mist. 

"How  d'  you  do!"  he  said.  "I've  been  hearing 
of  you." 

Again  Clodagh  colored  and  glanced  at  her  father. 

"What  were  you  telling  him,  father?"  she  asked, 
with  native  curiosity. 

Once  more  Asshlin  laughed  loudly. 

"Listen  to  her,  James,"  he  said,  banteringly. 
"Her  conscience  is  troubling  her.  She  knows  that 
it's  hard  to  speak  well  of  her.  Isn't  that  it,  scamp? 
Confess  now." 

Clodagh  had  again  passed  round  the  table,  and, 

i8 


THE    GAMBLER 

having  thrown  her  whip  and  cap  into  a  chair,  had 
seated  herself  without  ceremony  in  the  vacant  place 
that  awaited  her. 

"Indeed  it  isn't,"  she  replied,  with  immense  un- 
concern. Then  an  instant  later  she  repeated  her 
question. 

"  What  was  it,  father  ?     Can't  you  tell  me  ?" 

Asshlin  lifted  his  glass  and  studied  the  light  through 
his  sherry. 

"Ah,  now,  listen  to  her,  James!"  he  exclaimed  again, 
delightedly.  "And  women  will  tell  you  they  aren't 
inquisitive!" 

Clodagh  flushed. 

The  little  sister,  seeing  the  flush,  was  suddenly 
moved  to  assert  herself. 

"'Twasn't  anything,  Clo,"  she  said,  quickly.  "He 
only  said  you  were  a  scalawag."  Then,  as  all  eyes 
turned  in  her  direction,  she  subsided  abruptly  into 
confused  silence. 

"There  you  are  again,  James!  Look  at  the  way 
they  stick  together!  A  poor  man  hasn't  the  ghost 
of  a  chance  when  two  of  them  join  forces.  One  of 
them  ought  to  have  been  a  boy — if  only  for  the  sake 
of  equality."  He  shook  his  head  and  laughed  afresh, 
while  Burke  deposited  the  last  plate  upon  the  table, 
and  dinner  began  in  earnest. 

That  dinner,  like  his  drive  from  Muskeere,  was  an 
experience  to  Milbanke.  More  than  once  his  eyes 
travelled  involuntarily  from  the  candle-lit  table,  with 
its  suggestion  of  another  and  an  earlier  era,  to  the 
high  walls  where  the  fire  cast  long  shafts  of  ruddy 
light  and  long  tongues  of  shadow  upon  Asshlin's 
ancestors,  painted  in  garments  of  silk  and  lace,  that 
had  once  found  a  setting  in  this  same  sombre  room. 
There  was  something  strangely  analogous  in  these 

19 


THE    GAMBLER 

dead  men  and  women  and  their  living  representatives. 
The  thought  recurred  to  him  again  and  again  as  he 
yielded  to  the  pleasant  influences  of  good  wine  and 
wholesome  food  pressed  upon  him  with  unceasing 
hospitality.  It  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  pander- 
ed to  his  taste  for  past  things  by  comparing  a  man 
with  his  forefathers,  but  the  result  had  never  proved 
quite  so  profitable.  In  their  uncommon  setting, 
Asshlin  and  his  children  would  have  appealed  to  the 
most  unobservant  as  uncommon  types;  viewed  by  the 
eyes  of  a  student,  they  became  something  more — 
they  became  types  of  an  uncommon  race,  of  an  un- 
common class. 

With  the  spur  of  the  old  fascination  and  the  goad 
of  the  new-born  misgiving,  he  glanced  again  and  yet 
again  from  his  host's  hard,  handsome  features  to  the 
pictures,  from  the  pictures  to  the  warm-colored 
faces  of  the  children.  The  study  was  absorbing. 
It  supplied  him  with  an  agreeable  undercurrent  of 
interest  while  the  ham  and  turkey  were  removed 
and  Asshlin  with  much  dexterity  distributed  portions 
of  an  immense  apple-pie  deluged  in  cream;  it  still 
occupied  his  mind  when — a  whole  cheese  having  been 
placed  upon  the  table  and  partially  partaken  of — 
Burke  proceeded  to  remove  the  cloth. 

At  the  moment  that  the  polished  surface  of  the 
table  was  laid  bare  his  glance,  temporarily  distracted 
from  its  study  of  the  nearer  pictures,  was  attracted 
and  arrested  by  one  portrait  that  hung  in  partial 
shadow  above  the  carved  chimney-piece.  It  was  the 
picture  of  a  tall,  slight  boy  of  sixteen  or  seventeen 
years,  dressed  in  the  black  satin  knee-breeches,  the 
diamond  shoebuckles  and  powdered  queue  of  a  past 
generation. 

Something  in  the  pose  of  this  painted  figure,  some- 

20 


THE    GAMBLER 

thing  in  the  youthful  face  caught  and  held  his  atten- 
tion. In  unconscious  scrutiny  he  leaned  forward 
to  study  the  shadowed  features;  then  Asshhn,  sud- 
denly aware  of  his  interest,  leaned  across  the  table. 

"That  was  what  I  meant,  James,  by  saying  one  of 
them  should  have  been  a  boy,"  he  said,  sharply. 
"Haven't  I  justification?"  He  nodded  half  earnest- 
ly, half  in  mahcious  humor  towards  the  picture 
above  the  fire. 

For  a  moment  Milbanke  was  at  a  loss;  then  all  at 
once  he  comprehended  his  host's  meaning.  His  gaze 
dropped  from  the  picture  to  Clodagh  sitting  below 
it.  Above  the  dark  riding-habit  and  above  the  satin 
coat  it  seemed  that  the  same  olive  skin,  the  same 
level  eyebrows  and  clear,  hazel  eyes  confronted  him. 

"  I  see,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  I  see.  A  very  peculiar 
case  of  family  likeness." 

He  spoke  affably,  casually,  in  all  innocence;  but 
scarcely  had  the  words  left  his  lips  than  he  precipi- 
tately wished  them  back.  With  a  loud  laugh, 
Asshlin  struck  the  table  with  his  hand. 

"Ah,  good!"  he  exclaimed.  "Good!  Now,  Clo, 
what  have  you  got  to  say  ?" 

But  with  a  gesture  quite  as  vehement  as  his  own 
the  girl  raised  her  head. 

"  I  say  that  it's  not  true,"  she  said.  "  It  isn't  true. 
I'm  not  like  him."  She  glanced  from  her  father  to 
Milbanke  with  suddenly  kindling  eyes. 

"I'm  not  like  him,"  she  repeated.  "I  won't  be 
like  him," 

Asshlin  leaned  back  quickly  in  his  chair.  He  was 
still  laughing,  but  a  shade  of  temper  was  audible  in  the 
laugh. 

"Do  you  hear  that,  James?"  he  said.  "We  of  the 
present  generation  are    altogether  too  good  for  the 

21 


THE    GAMBLER 

past.  A  slip  of  a  girl  nowadays  thinks  herself 
vastly  superior  to  a  great-great-grandfather  who  was 
the  finest  horseman  and  the  most  open-handed  man 
in  Munster.  That's  the  attitude  of  to-day."  He 
moved  aside  as  Burke  re-entered  the  room  and  laid 
a  decanter  of  port  and  two  glasses  on  the  shining 
mahogany  table. 

"My  great-grandfather  Anthony  Asshlin,"  he  went 
on,  deliberately,  "was  as  fine  a  specimen  of  the  Irish 
gentleman  as  ever  lived — I  don't  care  who  denies  it. 
Have  a  glass  of  port,  James?  We  inherit  his  taste 
in  wine." 

There  was  an  awkward  silence  while  he  filled  the 
two  glasses  and  pushed  one  towards  his  guest. 

But  Milbanke's  ease  of  mind  had  already  been  up- 
set. He  held  no  key  to  the  disconcerting  situation, 
and  it  puzzled  and  perplexed  him  as  his  first  impres- 
sion of  his  old  friend  had  done.  Both  possessed 
elements  that  he  vaguely  knew  to  be  hidden  from 
his  sight — out  of  focus  from  his  present  point  of 
view.  For  a  space  he  sat  warily  fingering  his  glass, 
but  making  no  attempt  to  drink.  Without  openly 
seeming  to  observe  it,  he  was  conscious  of  Asshlin's 
half -humorous,  half-aggressive  mood,  of  the  nervous 
attitude  of  the  younger  girl,  and  of  Clodagh's  flushed 
face. 

To  a  newly  arrived  guest  the  position  was  strained. 
With  growing  embarrassment  he  glanced  from  the 
rich,  dark  wine  in  his  glass  to  its  reflection  in  the 
polished  surface  of  the  table.  Finally  the  awkward- 
ness of  the  prolonged  silence  moved  him  to  speech. 

"A  great-grandfather  who  was  a  judge  of  wine  is 
always  worthy  of  consideration,"  he  murmured, 
amiably,  as  he  lifted  the  glass  to  his  lips.  "I'm 
afraid  mine  was  a  teetotaller." 

22 


THE    GAMBLER 

But  his  feeble  attempt  at  humor  was  not  destined 
to  be  successful.  It  drew  a  laugh  from  his  host, 
but  it  was  a  laugh  that  found  no  echo. 

"You're  right,  James!"  Asshlin  cried.  "By  Ju- 
piter, you're  right!  Anthony  Asshlin  was  the  finest 
man  in  the  county — and  I'm  proud  of  him." 

"He  was  the  worst  man  in  the  county — and  the 
greatest  fool!" 

The  words,  so  sudden  and  unexpected,  came  from 
Clodagh.  For  several  seconds  she  had  been  sitting 
absolutely  still;  but  now  she  lifted  her  head  again, 
her  flushed  face  glowing,  her  bright  eyes  alight  with 
the  quick  enthusiasm,  the  hot  temper  that  she  had 
inherited  from  her  race.  With  a  swift  movement 
she  turned  from  her  father  to  Milbanke. 

"Do  you  think  it  great  to  be  a  fool — and  a  gam- 
bler?" she  demanded. 

Asshlin  set  down  his  glass  noisily. 

"Anthony  Asshlin  was  no  gambler,"  he  said. 
"He  was  a  sportsman." 

Clodagh's  lip  curled. 

"A  sportsman!"  she  exclaimed.  "Is  it  sport  to 
keep  game-cocks,  to  play  cards,  and  throw  dice? 
To  squander  money  that  belongs  to  other  people? 
To  mortgage  your  property  and  to — to — to  kill  your 
brother?"  The  last  words  burst  from  her  impetu- 
ously, impulsively ;  then  suddenly  she  paused,  shocked 
by  her  own  daring. 

The  silence  that  followed  was  short.  With  an 
equal  impetuosity  Asshlin  pushed  back  his  chair  and 
rose. 

"  By  gad,  Clo,  that's  going  too  far!"  he  cried.  "  I'll 
not  hear  my  great-grandfather  called  a  murderer." 

"All  the  same  he  killed  his  brother." 

"  In  a  duel.     Gentlemen  had  to  fight  in  those  days." 

23 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Because  of  cards?  Because  they  quarrelled 
over  cards?"  Then,  with  a  fresh  change  of  expres- 
sion, she  appealed  again  to  Milbanke. 

"Do  you  think  that's  sport?"  she  asked.  "To 
get  no  good  out  of  ordinary  things  ?  To  get  no  pleas- 
ure out  of  dogs  or  horses,  except  the  pleasure  of 
making  them  fight  or  race  so  that  you  can  bet  on 
the  one  you  think  best?"  She  stopped  breathlessly, 
and  Milbanke,  desperately  at  a  loss,  gazed  from  one 
angry,  excited  face  to  the  other.  But  he  was  saved 
the  trouble  of  finding  an  answer,  for  immediately 
Clodagh  ceased  to  speak  Asshlin's  loud  laugh  broke 
in  again. 

"Bravo!"  he  cried,  boisterously.  "All  the  elo- 
quence and  all  the  lack  of  logic  of  your  sex!  But 
don't  put  those  propositions  to  Milbanke;  put  them 
to  yourself  when  you've  reached  his  age.  If  you 
can't  tell  at  fifty-five  why  poor  human  creatures  play 
and  kill  and  make  fools  of  themselves,  you'll  have 
been  a  very  lucky  woman."  For  an  instant  his  voice 
dropped,  the  despondency,  the  restless  ennui  that 
Milbanke  had  previously  noticed  falling  like  a  shadow 
over  his  anger.  But  the  lapse  was  brief.  With 
another  laugh  and  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  he 
turned  suddenly  and,  crossing  the  room,  opened  the 
door. 

"Burke,"  he  called,  loudly,  across  the  hall.  "  Burke, 
bring  more  candles  and  another  bottle  of  port — and 
the  cards." 

At  the  words  Clodagh  rose. 

"Father!"  she  exclaimed,  below  her  breath.  Then 
her  voice  faltered.  The  involuntary  note  of  protest 
and  appeal  was  checked  by  some  other  emotion. 
With  a  swift  moveinent  she  crossed  the  hearth,  picked 
up  her  whip  and  cap,  and  without  another  glance  or 

24 


THE    GAMBLER 

word  walked  out  of  tlic  room,  followed  noiselessly 
by  Nance. 

Asshlin  continued  to  stand  by  the  door  until  the 
figures  of  his  children  had  disappeared;  then  he 
turned  back  into  the  room. 

"James,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "perhaps  you  don't 
think  it,  but  one  hair  of  that  child's  head  is  more 
precious  to  me  than  life.  She's  an  Asshlin  to  the 
tips  of  her  fingers.  She's  the  whole  race  of  us  in 
one.  The  very  way  she  repudiates  us  is  proof  enough 
for  any  man.  I  tell  you  the  whole  lot  of  us,  lock, 
stock,  and  barrel,  are  looking  at  you  out  of  her 
eyes."  Again  he  paused;  then  again  he  shook  off  his 
passing  seriousness  with  nervous  excitability,  re- 
seating himself  at  the  table  as  Burke  entered. 

"Ah,  here  we  are!"  he  cried.  "Here  we  are! 
Come  along,  Burke,  and  show  the  light  of  heaven  to 
us.  Now,  James,  for  any  stakes  you  like — and  at 
any  game!  What  shall  it  be?  Piquet?  Or  will 
we  say  euchre,  for  the  sake  of  the  days  that  are  dead 
and  gone?  Very  well.  Euchre  let  it  be — for  any 
stakes  you  like.  It's  the  land  of  beggars,  but,  by 
gad,  you'll  find  us  game!  Pass  me  your  glass  for 
another  taste  of  port." 


IV 

THE  unpleasant  sensation  of  moving  in  the  dark 
remained  with  Milbanke  while  Asshlin,  still 
noisily  excited,  arranged  the  stakes,  cut  for  the  deal, 
and,  having  won  the  cut,  distributed  the  cards. 
By  nature  he  was  lethargic  and  placid;  by  habit  he 
was  precise,  methodical,  and  commonplace.  The 
advent  into  this  new  atmosphere  with  its  inexplicable 
suggestions  and  volcanic  outbursts  left  him  distressed 
and  ill  at  ease.  He  was  the  type  of  man  who,  in 
every  relation  of  life,  likes  to  know  exactly  where  he 
stands.  Having  once  satisfied  himself  upon  that 
point,  he  was  usually  content  to  follow  the  routine 
of  existence  without  trouble  to  those  around  him; 
but  until  it  was  fully  defined  he  was  a  prey  to  a 
vague  uneasiness. 

So  absorbed  was  he  by  the  trend  of  his  own  specu- 
lations that  for  the  first  five  games  he  gave  but  small 
consideration  to  the  cards.  Then,  however,  his  host 
jogged  his  attention  with  no  uncertain  hand. 

Pausing  in  the  shuffling  of  the  cards,  he  glanced 
across  the  table.  "You're  playing  like  an  old  woman, 
James.  Are  your  wits  wool  -  gathering  that  you've 
let  me  win  every  blessed  game?" 

Milbanke  looked  up.  "Forgive  me,"  he  said, 
hastily.     "Forgive  me.     I  was  thinking — " 

"Thinking  that  a  broken-down  devil  of  an  Irishman 
isn't  high  enough  game  to  fly  at?"  Asshlin  laughed. 

26 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Well,  I'll  put  some  life  into  you.  I'll  double  the 
stakes.  What  do  you  say  to  that?"  He  leaned 
back  in  his  chair,  balancing  the  pack  of  cards  in  his 
hands. 

Milbanke,  with  suddenly  awakened  observation, 
saw  that  his  eyes  glittered  with  excitement  and  that 
his  lips  were  set. 

"Double  the  stakes?"  he  echoed,  doubtfully.  "Oh 
— certainly,  if  you  think  it  will  improve  the  game. 
For  myself  I  rarely  play  for  money;  I  always  think 
that  the  cards — " 

"Are  sufficient  in  themselves,  I  suppose,"  Asshlin 
laughed.  "Don't  you  believe  it,  James.  Or  if  you 
do,  I'll  teach  you  better.  Come  along.  In  for  a 
penny,  in  for  a  pound!     Are  you  agreeable  ?" 

For  a  moment  Milbanke  was  thoughtful;  then  he 
became  conscious  of  the  other's  impatient  glance. 

"Why — why,  certainly,"  he  said.  "Anything  vou 
like." 

"Spoken  like  a  man!"  Asshlin  impulsively  threw 
down  the  cards  and  then  gathered  them  up  again. 
"I  see  the  embalming  process  isn't  completed  yet. 
The  antiquarians  have  left  a  shred  or  two  of  frail 
humanity  in  you.  Well,  we'll  have  it  out.  We'll 
put  an  edge  on  it.  Come  along."  He  leaned  for- 
ward, the  reckless  brightness  deepening  in  his  eyes. 

But  Milbanke  hesitated.  "Hadn't  we  better 
settle  up  the  first  score  and  start  afresh?"  he  said. 
"How  do  we  stand?"  He  put  his  hand  into  his 
pocket. 

But  the  other  waived  the  point. 

"Is  it  paying  at  this  hour  of  the  night?"  he  cried. 
"Give  me  a  pencil  and  I'll  jot  down  our  difference, 
if  you're  conscientious.  But  the  balance  will  be  on 
the  other  side  before  the  candles  are  burned  out. 

27 


THE    GAMBLER 

The  devil  forgot  to  bring  luck  to  the  Asshlins  since 
poor  Anthony  went  below.  But  come  along,  man. 
Come  along.  Here's  to  the  youth  of  us!"  He 
drained  his  glass  and  turned  again  to  the  business 
in  hand. 

During  the  next  half-dozen  games  neither  spoke. 
With  deep  absorption  Asshlin  followed  the  run  of  the 
cards.  Once  or  twice  an  exclamation  escaped  him; 
once  or  twice  he  paused  to  replenish  Milbanke's 
glass  or  his  own;  but  in  every  other  respect  he  had 
eyes  and  thoughts  for  nothing  but  the  business  of  the 
moment.  Milbanke,  on  the  contrary,  gambler  neither 
by  instinct  nor  training,  was  infinitely  more  interested 
in  his  opponent  than  in  the  play. 

As  he  watched  Asshlin,  a  score  of  recollections  rose 
to  his  mind — recollections  that  time  and  advancing 
age  had  all  but  effaced.  He  recalled  the  numberless 
occasions  upon  which  the  Irishman,  in  the  exuberance 
of  youth,  had  sat  over  a  gaming-table  until  the  day- 
light had  streamed  in  across  the  scattered  cards,  the 
heaped-up  cigar  ashes,  and  the  emptied  glasses;  he 
reviewed  the  rare  occasions  on  which  his  cajoleries 
had  drawn  him  from  his  own  mild  pursuits  to  be  a 
sharer  in  these  prolonged  revels;  and  with  the 
memory  came  the  thought  of  the  headache,  the  sick 
sense  of  weariness  that  had  invariably  lain  in  wait 
for  him  the  following  morning.  A  wondering  ad- 
miration for  Asshlin  had  always  held  a  place  in  these 
jaded  after-sensations — a  species  of  hero-worship  for 
one  who  could  turn  into  bed  at  four  in  the  morning 
and  emerge  at  nine  with  all  the  vigor  and  vitality  of 
the  most  virtuous  sleeper.  He  had  never  fully 
realized  that  to  men  of  Asshlin's  stamp  dissipation, 
excitement,  and  action  are  potent  stimulants,  calling 
forth   all    the   superfluous   nervous   energy   that   by 

28 


THE     GAMBLER 

nature  they  possess.  Wliile  the  tide  of  hfe  runs  high 
about  such  men,  they  are  borne  forward,  buoyed  up 
by  their  own  capacity  for  Hving  and  enjoying.  To 
them  existence  at  high  pressure  is  a  glorious,  exalted 
state,  exempt  from  satiety  or  fatigue;  it  is  the 
quieter  phases  of  existence — the  phases  that  to 
ordinary  men  mean  rest,  peace,  domestic  tranquillity, 
and  domestic  interests — that  these  exuberant,  ardent 
human  beings  have  cause  to  dread. 

An  hour  passed  and  still  the  idea  of  a  past  curiously 
reflected  and  curiously  contradicted  absorbed  Mil- 
banke's  perceptions.  Then  gradually  but  decisively 
it  was  borne  in  upon  his  mind  that  his  absorption  was 
blunting  his  common-sense.  He  was  playing  exe- 
crably. 

It  has  been  said  that  he  was  no  gambler;  but 
neither  was  he  a  fool.  With  something  of  a  shock  he 
realized  that  he  stood  a  loser  to  the  extent  of  seven 
or  eight  pounds.  With  the  realization  he  sat  straight- 
er  in  his  chair.  It  was  not  that  he  grudged  the 
money.  He  was  generous — and  could  afford  generos- 
ity. It  was  rather  that  that  admirable  quality 
which  urges  the  Englishman  to  play  a  losing  game 
was  stirred  within  him. 

"By  Jove,  Denis!"  he  said.  "I  must  look  to  my 
laurels.     I  used  to  play  a  better  game  than  this." 

Asshlin's  only  answer  was  a  laugh — a  laugh  from 
which  all  the  bitterness  had  dropped  away,  leaving 
a  buoyant  ring  of  absorption  and  delight.  Under 
the  stimulus  of  excitement  he  had  altered.  He  was 
exalted,  lifted  above  the  petty  discontent,  the 
pessimism,  the  despondency  that  tainted  his  empty 
days. 

And  so  for  nearly  two  hours  they  played  steadily; 
then  Milbanke  paused  and  drew  out  his  watch. 

29 


THE    GAMBLER 

"  I  don't  know  what  sort  of  hours  you  keep  in 
Ireland,"  he  hazarded.  "But  it's  nearly  twelve 
o'clock." 

Asshlin  had  paused  to  snuff  one  of  the  candles 
that  had  begun  to  gutter.  At  the  other's  words  he 
glanced  up  in  undisguised  surprise. 

"Hours?"  he  repeated.  "Why,  any — or  none  at 
all.  You  don't  know  the  glory  of  having  something 
to  sit  up  for."  He  paused  for  a  second  in  a  sort  of 
ecstasy.  "You  don't  know  it;  you  can't  know  it. 
You  have  never  felt  the  abomination  of  desolation." 
He  laughed  feverishly  and  gathered  up  the  cards 
afresh.     "Come,  James.     Your  deal." 

And  in  this  manner  the  night  wore  on.  In  the 
early  stages  of  their  play  Asshlin's  luck  stuck  to  him 
determinately ;  but  by  degrees  his  opponent's  more 
cautious  and  level  play  began  to  tell  and  their 
positions  were  gradually  reversed.  By  one  o'clock 
Milbanke  had  made  good  his  losses  and  even  stood 
with  some  trifling  amount  to  his  advantage.  Here 
again  he  had  mildly  suggested  a  cessation;  but 
Asshlin,  more  intoxicated  by  bad  than  he  had  been 
by  good  fortune,  had  demanded  his  revenge,  and 
called  loudly  through  the  quiet  house  for  more 
candles  and  more  wine. 

But  with  the  fresh  round  of  play  the  luck  remained 
unaltered.     Milbanke  continued  to  win. 

With  a  sleepy  face  but  no  expression  of  surprise 
Burke  resi^onded  to  his  master's  call,  replenishing 
the  light  and  setting  the  port  upon  the  table.  But 
the  players  scarcely  noticed  his  entrance  or  departure. 
Asshlin  was  playing  with  desperate  recklessness,  and 
Milbanke,  without  intent  or  consciousness,  was  slowly 
falling  under  the  influence  of  his  companion's  excite- 
ment.    As  minute  succeeded  minute  and  Asshlin  sat 

30 


THE    GAMBLER 

rigid  in  his  seat — cutting,  dealing,  marking  the  result 
of  each  game  upon  a  strip  of  paper — the  elder  man 
became  more  and  more  the  satellite  of  thirty  years 
ago,  less  and  less  the  placid  archaeologist  for  whom 
the  follies  of  the  present  lie  overshadowed  by  the 
past. 

He  forgot  the  long  journey  of  tlie  afternoon,  the 
peculiar  incidents  of  his  arrival.  A  slight  flush  rose 
to  his  usually  bloodless  cheeks;  he  found  himself 
watching  the  run  of  the  cards  with  a  species  of  re- 
flected eagerness,  roused  to  an  unaccustomed  elation 
when  the  advantage  fell  to  him. 

At  three  o'clock  they  played  the  last  round.  And 
it  was  only  then,  when  the  last  card  had  been  thrown 
on  the  table  and  he  had  risen  stiff  from  long  sitting, 
the  winner  of  something  like  twenty  pounds,  that 
he  realized  how  completely  he  had  been  dominated 
by  this  resurrected  influence;  dominated  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  personal  prejudice  and  even  personal 
comfort.  So  strong  was  this  impression  of  past  in- 
fluences that  he  was  roused  to  no  surprise  when, 
glancing  at  his  companion,  he  saw  him  temporarily 
rejuvenated — his  expression  alert,  his  whole  face 
vivified  by  the  night's  excitement. 

Again  a  touch  of  the  old  sympathy  rose  within 
him.  The  reckless,  cynical  man  before  him  was 
momentarily  effaced ;  the  bright  personality  of  long 
ago  seemed  to  fill  the  room. 

"Good-night,  Denis."  he  said,  gently,  holding  out 
his  hand. 

Asshlin  caught  it  enthusiastically. 

"Good -night,  James.  Good  -  night.  And  once 
more  a  thousand  welcomes  and  a  thousand  thanks. 
You  have  been  a  drop  of  water  in  the  desert  to  a 
parching    man.     Good-night,    and    pleasant   dreams 

31 


THE    GAMBLER 

to  you.     I'll  reckon  up  my  losses  in  the  morning  and 
write  you  a  check.     Good-night." 

Milbanke  responded  to  the  pressure  of  his  fingers. 
"Don't  trouble  about  the  money,"  he  said.  "Any 
time  will  do.  Any  time.  But  you're  turning  in 
yourself?     We'll  be  up-stairs  together?" 

But  Asshlin  shook  his  head. 

"Not  yet,"  he  said.  "Not  after  this.  I'll  take  a 
turn  across  the  fields  and  have  a  look  at  the  night 
on  the  water.  I  feel  too  much  awake,  James,  to  be 
smothered  by  sheets  and  blankets.  It  isn't  often 
we  feel  life  here — and  the  sensation  is  glorious."  He 
drew  up  his  tall,  powerful  figure  and  stretched  out 
his  arms.  Then  almost  at  once  he  let  them  fall  to 
his  sides. 

"But  what  moonshine  this  is  to  you,  you  prosaic 
Saxon!"  he  exclaimed.  "Let  me  light  you  to  bed." 
He  laughed  quickly,  and,  picking  up  one  of  the 
massive  candlesticks,  moved  towards  the  door. 

For  an  instant  Milbanke  lingered  in  the  dining- 
room,  grown  dimmer  with  the  departing  lights; 
then,  hearing  his  name  in  his  host's  voice,  he  hurried 
after  him  into  the  hall. 

Asshlin  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  the 
glowing  candles  held  aloft.  Above  him  the  high 
ceiling  loomed  shadowy  and  indistinct;  behind  him 
the  dark,  wainscoted  wall  threw  his  figure  into  bold 
relief.  It  would  have  demanded  but  a  slight  stretch 
of  fancy  to  picture  him  as  his  satin-coated  grand- 
father grown  to  a  dissipated  maturity  as  he  stood 
there,  the  master-spirit  in  this  house  of  fallen  great- 
ness. As  Milbanke  reached  his  side  he  laughed  once 
more,  precisely  as  Anthony  Asshlin  might  have 
laughed  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  same  staircase 
more  than  a  hundred  years  ago.     The  taint  of  hercd- 

32 


THE    GAMBLER 

ity  seemed  to  wrap  him  round — to  gleam  in  his  un- 
naturally bright  eyes,  to  reverberate  in  his  voice. 

"Up  with  you,  James!"  he  cried.  "I  needn't  put 
your  hand  on  the  banister,  like  I  have  to  do  with 
some  of  my  guests.  You  never  yet  drank  a  swerve 
into  your  steps.  Well,  I  don't  blame  you  for  it. 
It's  men  like  you  that  keep  heaven  a  going  concern, 
while  poor  devils  like  me  are  paving  the  lower  regions. 
Good-night  to  you!" 

With  a  fresh  laugh  he  thrust  the  great  candlestick 
into  the  other's  hand  and  turned  on  his  heel. 

Milbanke  remained  motionless,  while  Asshlin  passed 
across  the  hall  and  opened  the  door,  letting  in  a  breath 
of  fresh,  damp  air  that  set  the  candle-flames  dancing; 
then,  as  the  door  closed  again,  he  turned  and  put  his 
hand  on  the  banister. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  unreality,  mingled  with  the 
borrowed  excitement  still  at  work  within  him,  that 
he  began  his  ascent  of  the  stairs.  The  natural  fatigue 
consequent  on  the  day's  journey  had  been  temporarily 
dispelled,  and  sleep  seemed  something  distant  and 
almost  unattractive.  As  he  mounted  the  creaking 
steps,  moving  cautiously,  out  of  consideration  for 
the  sleeping  household,  he  found  himself  wishing 
incontinently  that  he  had  offered  his  company  to 
iiis  host  in  his  stroll  towards  the  sea. 

As  the  desire  came  to  him  he  paused.  He  could 
still  overtake  Asshlin!  He  hesitated,  glancing  from 
the  closed  door  of  his  bedroom  to  the  hall  lying  be- 
low him  in  a  well  of  shadow.  Then  suddcnh^  he 
raised  his  head,  attracted  by  a  sound,  subdued  and 
yet  distinct,  that  came  to  him  through  the  silence  of 
the  house — the  sound  of  light,  hasty  steps  on  an  tni- 
carpeted  corridor. 

In  the  wave  of  surprise  that  swept  over  him  he 
3  23 


THE    GAMBLER 

forgot  his  recent  excitement,  his  recent  wish  for 
action  and  fresh  air.  Lifting  the  candlestick  above 
his  head,  he  peered  along  the  passage  that  stretched 
away  beyond  his  own  door.  But  the  scrutiny  was 
momentary.  Almost  at  once  he  lowered  the  candles 
and  drew  back,  as  he  recognized  the  figure  of  Clodagh 
coming  towards  him  out  of  the  gloom. 

But  if  he  felt  embarrassment  it  was  evident  that 
she  was  conscious  of  none.  As  she  came  within  a 
few  yards  of  him  she  halted  for  an  instant  to  assure 
herself  of  his  identity;  then,  her  mind  satisfied,  she 
stepped  straight  onward  into  the  light  of  the  six 
candles. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad!"  she  said,  quickly.  "I  was 
afraid  for  a  minute  that  it  was  father." 

As  she  lifted  her  face  ingenuously  even  Milbanke 
— unversed  in  the  study  of  women — could  not  fail  to 
notice,  if  only  vaguely,  the  changed  picture  that  she 
made.  She  still  looked  extremely  youthful,  almost 
childish,  but  now  the  youthfulness  had  a  piquant 
feminine  suggestion  that  had  been  lacking  earlier. 
Down-stairs,  clothed  in  the  dark  cloth  habit  and 
wearing  her  hair  closely  braided,  she  had  suggested 
a  charming  and  spirited  boy  rather  than  a  girl  who 
would  one  day  be  a  woman;  here,  with  her  thick  hair 
ruffled,  her  bright  eyes  softened  by  the  shadows,  her 
figure  wrapped  in  the  folds  of  an  old  -  fashioned 
dressing-gown  that  swept  voluminously  round  her, 
she  wore  a  different  aspect.  She  was  a  different  being 
— possessing  different  characteristics,  foreshadowing 
different  possibilities. 

But  the  moment  was  not  propitious  for  such 
revelations.  Milbanke,  unimaginative  and  embar- 
rassed, scarcely  comprehended  them;  Clodagh  herself 
was  hardly  aware   that  they  existed.     Full  of  the 

34 


THE    GAMBLER 

matter  in  hand,  she  gave  no  time  to  reflection,  felt 
no  awkwardness  on  the  score  of  unconventionality 
either  of  hour  or  dress. 

"I've  been  waiting  up  for  you,"  she  said,  quickly. 
"I  couldn't  go  to  sleep  till  I'd  seen  you." 

Milbanke  was  still  confused.  Moved  by  an  unde- 
fined impulse,  he  extinguished  three  of  the  six  candles. 

"Indeed!"  he  said.  "But  it's  very  late.  You 
must — you  must  be  tired." 

He  glanced  uncertainly  round  the  landing  as  if  seek- 
ing a  chair  to  offer  her.     Then  an  idea  struck  him. 

"  Will  you  come  down-stairs  ?"  he  suggested.  "The 
fire  is  still  alight  in  the  dining-room.  You  —  you 
must  be  cold  as  well  as  tired." 

He  looked  hesitatingly  at  her  light  gown. 

But  Clodagh  shook  her  head. 

"We  mustn't  go  down,"  she  said.  "He  might 
come  in  and  find  us — and  then  we'd  have  a  row.  He 
and  I  of  course,  I  mean,"  she  added,  poHtely. 

Then,  as  if  impatient  of  the  preamble,  she  plunged 
into  the  subject  she  had  at  heart. 

"Mr.  Milbanke,"  she  said,  "will  you  promise  me 
not  to — not  to,  after  to-night?" 

Milbanke's  face  looked  blank. 

"Not  to  what?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  not  to  encourage  him — not  to  play  with  him. 
He's  ruining  himself  and  ruining  us  all.  Couldn't 
you  guess  it  from  dinner — from  the  quarrel  we  had  ? 
Oh,  he's  so  terribly  foolish,  and — and  I'm  so  fond 
of  him!" 

Her  voice  suddenly  trembled,  the  whole  warm, 
emotional  force  of  her  nature  shining  out  upon  him 
fronn  her  eyes. 

But  he  was  laboring  under  the  shock  her  revelation 
had  given  him. 

35 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Good  Heavens!"  he  stammered.  "I  had  no 
idea — no  idea  of  such  a  thing." 

"No;  I  know  you  hadn't — I  was  sure  you  hadn't." 
Her  voice  thrilled  with  quick  relief. 

"No,  no.  Certainly  not.  But  tell  me  about  it. 
Dear  me!     Dear  me!     I  had  no  idea  of  such  a  thing." 

"Oh,  it  began  ages  ago  —  before  mother  died. 
Burke  says  'twas  the  life — the  quiet  life  after  Eng- 
land. He  came  home,  you  know,  when  his  father 
died,  and  he  found  the  place  in  a  bad  way.  He 
has  never  been  rich  enough  to  live  out  of  the  country, 
and  he  has  never  stopped  fretting  for  the  things  that 
aren't  here.  But  while  mother  lived  he  kept  pretty 
good ;  'twas  after  she  died  that  he  seemed  not  to  care. 
First  he  got  gloomy  and  sad,  then  he  got  reckless 
and  terrible.  People  were  frightened  of  him.  His 
friends  began  to  drop  away." 

She  paused  for  a  moment,  glancing  down  into  the 
hall  to  assure  herself  that  all  was  quiet. 

"It's  been  the  same  ever  since.  Sometimes  he's 
gloomy  and  depressed,  other  times  he's  wild,  like  to- 
night. And  when  he's  wild,  he's  mad  for  cards. 
Oh,  you  don't  know  what  it's  like!  It's  like  being  a 
drunkard  —  only  different  —  and  worse.  When  he's 
like  that  he'd  play  with  any  one  —  for  anything. 
Last  week  he  had  a  dreadful  man  —  a  horse-dealer 
from  Muskeere — staying  here  with  him  for  three  days. 
They  played  cards  every  night — played  till  three  or 
four  in  the  morning.  Father  lost  all  the  ready 
money  in  the  house,  and  nearly  emptied  the  stables." 

She  paused,  exhausted  by  her  earnestness — her  lips 
parted,  her  eager  eyes  scanning  her  listener's  face. 

Milbanke  stood  before  her  horrified  and  absorbed. 
An  understanding  of  many  things,  before  obscure, 
had  come  to  him  while  she  was  speaking ;  and  with  the 

36 


THE     GAMBLER 

knowledge,  a  sudden  deep  pity  for  this  child  of  his 
old  friend — a  sudden  sense  of  guilt  at  his  own  blind- 
ness, his  own  weakness. 

"Miss  Clodagh— "  he  said,  quickly,  in  his  stiff, 
formal  voice.  Then  he  paused  as  she  raised  her 
hand  with  a  sharp  gesture  of  attention. 

A  heavy  step  sounded  on  the  gravel  outside  the 
house.  There  was  an  instant's  hesitation ;  then 
Clodagh  leaned  forward  with  swift  presence  of  mind 
and  blew  out  the  three  remaining  candles. 

"You  understand  now?"  she  whispered. 

"Yes,"  he  murmured,  below  his  breath.  "Yes;  I 
understand." 

A  moment  later,  he  heard  her  flit  down  tlic  corri- 
dor, and  heard  Asshlin  open  the  heavy  outer  door. 


V 

THUS  it  was  that  James  Milbanke  entered  on  his 
first  night  at  Orristown.  The  surprise,  the  ex- 
citement, and  the  culminating  incident  of  the  even- 
ing would  have  been  disturbing  to  a  man  of  even  more 
placid  temperament;  and  rebel  as  he  might  against 
the  weakness,  he  lay  awake  considerably  longer  than 
was  his  wont  in  the  uncomfortable,  canopied  bed, 
listening  to  the  numberless  infinitesimal  sounds  that 
break  the  silence  of  a  sleeping  house — from  the  faint, 
occasional  cracking  of  the  furniture  to  the  scurrying 
of  a  mouse  behind  the  plaster  of  the  walls.  Then 
gradually,  as  his  ears  became  accustomed  to  these 
minor  noises,  another  sound,  unnoticed  in  the  ac- 
tivity of  the  earlier  hours,  obtruded  itself  softly  but 
persistently  upon  his  consciousness — the  subdued  and 
regular  breaking  of  the  sea  on  the  rocks  below  the  house. 
A  slight  sense  of  annoyance  was  his  first  feeling, 
for  it  was  many  years  since  he  had  vslept  by  the  sea; 
then  quietly,  lingeringly,  soothingly  the  rhythmical 
persistence  of  the  sound  began  to  tell.  Imperceptibly 
the  confusing  ideas  of  the  evening  became  pleasantly 
indistinct  —  the  numberless  contradictory  feelings 
blurred  into  one  delightful  sensation  of  indifference 
and  repose.  With  the  salt,  moist  air  borne  to  him 
through  the  open  window,  and  the  great,  untiring 
lullaby  of  the  ocean  rising  and  falling  ui:»on  his  senses, 
like  the  purring  of  a  gigantic  cat,  he  fell  asleep. 

38 


THE     GAMBLER 

[lis  first  sensation  upon  wakini^  the  next  morning 
was  one  of  pleasure — the  placid,  unquestioning  satis- 
faction that  comes  to  the  untroubled  mind  with  the 
advent  of  a  fine  day.  To  his  simple  taste,  the  sights 
and  sounds  that  met  his  waking  consciousness  were 
possessed  of  an  unaccustomed  charm.  With  day- 
light the  room  that  last  night  had  held  grim  and 
even  ghostly  suggestions  took  on  a  more  human  and 
more  friendly  air.  The  ancient  mahogany  furniture 
seemed  anxious  to  reflect  the  morning  sunshine;  the 
massive  posts  of  the  bed,  with  their  drapery  of  faded 
rep,  no  longer  glowered  upon  the  intruder.  Each 
object  was  bathed  in,  and  rejuvenated  by,  the  golden 
warmth,  the  incomparable  mellow  radiance  of  sea  and 
sky  that  flowed  in  at  the  open  window. 

For  a  while  he  lay  in  contemplative  enjoyment  of 
this  early,  untainted  atmosphere,  while  the  sounds 
of  the  awakening  day  gradually  rose  above  the  soft 
beating  of  the  outgoing  tide — falling  upon  his  ears 
in  a  pleasant,  primitive  medley  of  clacking  fowls, 
joyous,  yelping  dogs,  and  stamping  horses.  For 
a  space  he  lay  still ;  then  the  inevitable  wish  to  take 
active  part  in  this  world  created  from  the  darkness 
and  the  silence  of  the  night  aroused  him,  and,  slipping 
out  of  bed,  he  drew  on  a  dressing-gown  and  walked 
to  the  window. 

The  sight  that  met  his  eyes  was  one  of  infinite 
beauty.  The  delicacy — the  poetry — the  subtle,  un- 
namable  charm  that  lie  in  the  hollow  of  nature's 
hand  was  over  land  and  sky  and  sea;  the  warmth 
and  wealth  of  summer  stretched  before  him,  but 
summer  mellowed  and  softened  by  a  golden  autumnal 
haze. 

There  are  more  inspiring  countries  than  Ireland — 
countries  more  richly  dowered  in  vegetation ;  coun- 

39 


THE    GAMBLER 

tries  more  radiant  in  atmosphere  and  brilliant  in 
coloring;  but  there  is  no  land  where  the  hand  of  the 
Maker  is  more  poignantly  felt;  where  the  mystic 
spirit  of  creation— the  wonderful,  tender,  pathetic 
sense  of  the  beginning  has  been  so  strangely  pre- 
served. As  Milbanke  stood  at  the  open  window  his 
eyes  travelled  without  interruption  over  the  wide, 
green  fields — neither  lawn  nor  meadow — that  spread 
from  the  house  to  the  shore,  owning  no  boundary 
wall  beyond  the  low,  shelving  rocks  of  red  sandstone 
that  rose  a  natural  barrier  against  the  encroachments 
of  the  tide.  And  from  the  fields,  his  gaze  wandered 
onward,  drawn  irresistibly  and  inevitably  to  the 
sea  itself — the  watchful,  tyrannical  guardian  of  the 
silent  land. 

It  lay  before  him  like  a  tremendous  glassy  lake, 
stretching  in  one  untroubled  sweep  from  Orristown 
to  the  point,  three  miles  away,  where  the  purple 
headland  of  Carrigmore  completed  the  semicircle  of 
the  bay.  The  silence,  the  majesty  of  that  sweep 
of  water  was  indescribable.  From  the  rim  of  yellow 
sand,  which  the  indolent  waves  were  lapping,  to  the 
misted  horizon  not  one  sign  of  human  life  marred  the 
smoothness  of  its  surface.  Across  the  bay  at  Carrig- 
more a  few  spirals  of  smoke  rose  from  the  cluster  of 
pink  and  white  cottages  lying  under  the  shadow 
of  the  Round  Tower;  on  the  long,  sandy  strand  a 
couple  of  bare-legged  boys  were  leisurely  raking  up 
the  sea-weed  that  the  waves  had  left,  and  slowly 
piling  it  on  a  waiting  donkey  butt ;  but  the  sea  itself 
was  undisturbed.  It  lay  as  it  might  have  lain  on  the 
first  day  of  completed  creation — mystical,  sublime, 
untouched. 

Milbanke  was  no   poet,   yet   the   scene   impressed 
him.     The  extraordinary  sense  of  an  immutable  and 

40 


THE    GAMBLER 

impenetrable  peace  before  which  man  and  man's 
mere  transitory  concerns  are  dwarfed,  if  not  entirely 
eliminated,  touched  him  vaguely.  It  was  with  a 
tinge  of  something  bordering  upon  reluctance  that 
he  at  last  drew  his  eyes  from  the  picture  and  began 
to  dress. 

But  once  freed  from  the  spell  of  the  ocean,  liis 
mind  reverted  to  the  other  interests  that  lay  close  at 
hand.  He  found  himself  wondering  how  his  en- 
tertainers would  appear  on  a  second  inspection; 
whether,  like  his  room,  they  would  take  on  a  more 
commonplace  semblance  with  the  advent  of  daylight. 
The  touch  of  irrepressible  and  human  curiosity  that 
the  speculation  aroused  gave  a  spur  to  the  business 
of  dressing ;  and  it  was  well  under  the  twenty  minutes 
usually  devoted  to  his  neat  and  careful  toilet  when 
he  found  himself  crossing  the  corridor  and  descending 
the  stairs. 

He  encountered  no  one  as  he  ])assed  through  the 
hall;  and  catching  a  fresh  suggestion  of  sunshine 
through  the  door  that  stood  hospitably  o])cn,  he 
pau.sed  for  an  instant  to  take  a  cursory  glance  at  the 
gravelled  sweep  that  terminated  the  drive  and  the 
grassy  slope  surmounted  by  a  fringe  of  beeches  that 
formed  the  outlook  from  the  front  of  the  house. 
Then  he  turned  quickly  and,  recrossing  the  hall, 
passed  into  the  dining-room. 

None  of  the  household  had  yet  appeared,  but  here 
also  the  daylight  had  worked  changes.  The  curtains 
were  drawn  back,  permitting  the  view  of  fields  and 
sea,  that  he  had  already  studied  from  his  bedroom, 
to  break  uninterruptedly  through  the  three  lofty 
windows.  The  effect  was  one  of  extreme  airiness 
and  light;  and  it  was  quite  a  minute  before  his  gaze 
turned  to  the  darker  side  of  the  room   where  the  por- 

41 


THE    GAMBLER 

trait  of  the  famous  Anthony  AsshHn  hung  above  the 
glowing  fire. 

Reahzing  that  he  was  alone  in  the  big  room,  he 
crossed  to  the  table  where  breakfast  was  already  laid 
— the  remains  of  the  enormous  ham  rising  from  an 
untidy  paper  frill  to  defy  the  attacks  of  the  largest 
appetite.  In  the  brilliance  of  the  light  the  fineness 
of  the  table-linen  and  its  state  of  dilapidation  were 
both  accentuated,  as  was  the  genuine  beauty  and 
intrinsic  value  of  the  badly  kept  silver. 

But  Milbanke  had  no  time  to  absorb  these  details, 
for  instantly  he  reached  the  table  his  eye  was  caught 
by  a  folded  slip  of  paper  lying  by  his  place.  With  a 
touch  of  surprise  he  stooped  forwaid  and  picked  it 
up;  then  a  wave  of  annoyance,  almost  of  guilt,  suc- 
ceeded the  surprise  as  he  realized  that  it  was  a  check 
made  out  in  Asshlin's  straggling  handwriting  for  his 
losses  of  the  night  before. 

As  he  fingered  it  uncomfortably  a  vivid  remem- 
brance of  his  interview  with  Clodagh  rose  to  his 
mind.  He  thought  of  the  poverty  suggested  rather 
than  expressed  by  the  girl's  words;  he  thought  of  the 
Muskeere  horse-dealer  who  had  all  but  emptied  the 
stables.  With  a  puckered  brow  he  studied  his  own 
name  scrawled  across  the  check;  then,  with  a  sense 
of  something  like  duplicity,  he  hurriedly  pushed  it 
under  his  plate  as  he  heard  the  hall-door  close  and 
footsteps  sound  across  the  hall.  A  moment  later 
Asshlin,  followed  by  his  two  daughters,  entered  the 
room. 

All  three  greeted  him  in  turn,  then  Asshlin  crossed 
to  the  fire  and  proceeded  to  stir  it  to  a  blaze,  while 
Nance  and  Clodagh  passed  to  their  appointed  places. 

Both  girls  looked  pleasantly  in  keeping  with  the 
fresh  morning — their  rich,  youthful  coloring  having 

42 


THE    GAMBLER 

nothing  to  fear  from  the  searching  hght.  Nance  was 
dressed  in  a  very  clean  blue  cotton  frock  that  ac- 
centuated the  color  of  her  eyes,  but  Clodagh  was 
again  attired  in  the  old  -  fashioned  riding  -  habit, 
though  this  time  the  boy's  cap  was  absent  and  the 
sunshine  caught  pretty  reflections  in  her  light  brown 
hair. 

"I  hope  you  don't  mind  my  being  dressed  like 
this,"  she  said,  as  she  took  her  seat.  "I  always  have 
a  ride  in  the  mornings,  and  I  generally  tidy  up  for 
breakfast;  but  I'm  riding  a  race  at  ten  with  Larry — 
my  cousin,  you  know — so  'twouldn't  be  worth  while 
to  change  to-day." 

She  spoke  quite  naturally,  encountering  Milbanke's 
eyes  with  no  suggestion  of  embarrassment  for  last 
night's  adventure. 

He  met  her  glance  for  an  instant;  then  his  own 
wandered  guiltily  to  the  corner  of  the  check  protrud- 
ing from  under  his  plate. 

"Not  at  all!"  he  said,  hurriedly.  "Not  at  all!  I 
hope  I  may  be  permitted  to  see  the  race." 

Clodagh  smiled. 

"Of  course,  if  you  like,"  she  said.  "  But  it  won't 
be  much  to  look  at."  She  added  this  with  a  quick 
glance  that  ineffectually  attempted  to  gauge  the 
guest's  tastes  and  powers  of  appreciation. 

"  'Twill  be  grand!"  murmured  Nance,  softly. 
"And  I  know  who's  going  to  win." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Clodagh.  "I  won  in  the  prac- 
tice last  night,  but  the  strand  was  wet,  and  the  cob  is 
only  sure  on  hard  ground." 

But,  nevertheless,  she  flushed  and  threw  a  quick 
look  of  appreciation  and  affection  at  her  loyal  little 
partisan. 

"What  are  you  two  chattering  about?"  said  Assh- 

43 


THE    GAMBLER 

lin,  standing  up  from  the  fire  and  straightening  his 
shoulders.  "Is  that  your  notion  of  hospitahty — to 
keep  a  stranger  waiting  for  his  breakfast?  Faith, 
we  knew  better  in  the  old  days — eh,  James?" 

He  laughed  and  passed  round  the  table. 

Clodagh  presided  at  the  old-fashioned  silver  urn; 
and  either  her  confidences  of  the  night  before  or  the 
prospect  of  her  coming  contest  affected  her,  for  she 
forgot  the  diffidence  that  had  marked  her  at  the 
dinner  of  the  preceding  evening,  and  talked  brightly 
and  with  interest  on  a  variety  of  subjects.  Finally, 
as  she  handed  Milbanke  his  second  cup  of  tea,  she 
touched  upon  the  object  of  his  visit. 

"  'Twas  to  see  the  ruins  of  Carrigmore,  not  us,  that 
you  came,  wasn't  it?"  she  said,  with  a  shade  of 
humor. 

He  returned  her  glance  seriously. 

"Oh  no,"  he  said.     "At  least—" 

"Ah,  now  you've  let  it  out!"  she  exclaimed,  with 
a  laugh.  "I  knew  it.  I  said  so.  Didn't  I,  Nance? 
I  knew  no  one  would  come  here  just  to  see  us." 

Asshlin  laughed. 

" 'Pon  my  soul,"  he  cried,  "yoii  haven't  learned 
your  market  value  yet,  Clo!  If  I  were  a  girl  I'm 
hanged  if  I'd  rate  myself  lower  than  a  fourth-century 
ruin." 

He  laughed  afresh. 

But  Clodagh  displayed  no  embarrassment.  She 
was  too  unversed  in  the  ways  of  coquetry  to  see  or 
resent  the  point  of  the  remark. 

"I  ?"  she  said,  naively.  "What  have  I  to  do  with 
it.^" 

After  this  there  was  a  trifling  silence,  at  the  end  of 
which  Asshlin  looked  quickly  at  his  guest. 

"By -the -way,  James,"  he  exclaimed,  "we  were 

44 


THE    GAMBLER 

too  well  amused  last  night  to  look  ahead.  I  never 
thought  of  asking  you  about  to-day.  Have  you 
any  pet  plans  or  schemes  ?  Is  it  to  be  a  pilgrimage 
to  St.  Galen  ?  Or  what  do  you  say  to  a  day  in  the 
saddle?  There's  a  meet  not  five  miles  away;  and  if 
a  good  gallop  pleases  you,  I  have  as  neat  a  little 
horse  for  you  as  ever  carried  a  saddle.  What  do  you 
say?  Of  course,  if  you  think  the  Round  Tower  is 
likely  to  collapse  or  be  demolished  by  a  tidal  wave, 
I  won't  raise  a  finger;  but — " 

Milbanke  laughed. 

"My  dear  Denis,"  he  said,  quickly,  "don't  you 
trouble  on  my  account."  He  glanced  deprecatingly 
over  Asshlin's  sporting  attire.  "Don't  you  trouble 
about  me.  I  never  was  a  sportsman,  as  you  know. 
I'll  go  to  my  own  hunting,  and  you  go  to  yours. 
Don't  let  me  interfere  with  any  plans  you  may  have 
formed.     I  enjoy  a  solitary  excursion." 

But  Asshlin's  face  darkened. 

"Oh  no,"  he  objected,  after  a  short  pause.  "Oh 
no.  If  you're  not  game  for  it,  then  the  meet  is  ofE 
so  far  as  I'm  concerned.  I  can't  have  you  roaming 
about  the  country  by  yourself.  Oh  no;  I  hope  I 
remember  my  obligations." 

Milbanke  looked  distressed.  With  a  genuine  feel- 
ing of  embarrassment  he  turned  from  one  face  to  the 
other. 

"My  dear  Denis,",  he  objected,  feebly,  "I  must 
really  beg  of  ^'•ou — " 

"Not  another  word!  Not  another  word!"  Assh- 
lin  ostentatiously  helped  himself  to  some  ham.  "I 
hope,  James,  that  whatever  our  environments  we 
still  understand  the  traditions  of  hospitality.  If  you 
don't  feel  on  for  it,  there's  no  hunting  for  me  to-day." 

After   this   there   was    another   unpleasant    pause. 

45 


THE    GAMBLER 

Asshlin  attempted  to  hide  his  chagrin,  but  his  face 
was  unmistakably  dark  with  disappointment. 

For  a  space  Milbanke  toyed  with  his  breakfast, 
then  he  spoke  again. 

"  But,  my  dear  Denis,  if  you  will  only  allow  me,"  he 
ventured. 

But  before  Asshlin  could  reply,  Clodagh's  voice 
broke  in. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  bother  so  much,  father,"  she 
said,  easily.  "You  go  to  the  meet  and  I'll  take  Mr. 
Milbanke  to  Carrigmore.  I'll  drive  him  over  in  the 
pony  trap,  or  we'll  walk — whichever  he  likes  best." 

She  spoke  fluently  and  gayly,  and  it  was  difficult 
for  Milbanke  to  reconcile  the  high,  buoyant  tones  of 
her  voice  with  the  serious  note  struck  by  her  the  night 
before.  Filled  with  relief,  however,  at  her  timely  in- 
terruption, he  was  satisfied  to  let  the  discrepancy  go 
unregarded. 

"Excellent!"  he  cried.  "An  excellent  idea,  Miss 
Clodagh!  Here's  your  difficulty  solved,  Denis.  Your 
Irish  sense  of  chivalry  won't  allow  you  to  deprive 
me  of  so  charming  a  guide." 

Clodagh  laughed  frankly  at  the  stilted  compliment, 
and  Asshlin's  face  brightened  perceptibly. 

"Oh,  well,  as  you're  so  amiable,"  he  said,  mag- 
nanimously, "I  don't  mind  admitting  that  'twould 
have  been  a  bit  of  a  sacrifice  to  give  up  the  hunt. 
Though  if  I  hadn't  been  overruled  by  the  majority 
I'd  have  swallowed  the  ruins  without  a  grimace." 

He  laughed  with  restored  good-humor,  and  turned 
to  his  daughters. 

"When  you've  done  breakfast,  Clo,"  he  said,  "run 
round  to  the  stables  and  tell  Burke  he  need  only 
saddle  the  bay." 

With  the  decision  that  he  was,  after  all,  to  enjoy 

46 


THE    GAMBLER 

his  day's  sport  his  spirits  had  risen  ;  and  despite  the 
fact  that  the  dayhght  revealed  many  evidences  of  hist 
nii^ht's  dissipation  that  woukl  have  been  invisible 
thirty  years  ago,  Milbanke  was  pleased  and  reassured 
by  his  appearance.  His  movements  were  energetic, 
his  expression  alert.  He  suggested  one  who  is  in- 
terested and  attracted  by  life;  and  the  elder  man  was 
too  unimaginative — too  single  of  purpose  in  his  own 
concerns — to  suspect  that  the  energy,  the  alert  sug- 
gestion of  anticipation  were  due  to  his  own  presence 
in  the  house — to  the  promise  of  excitement  and 
diversion  that  that  presence  offered. 

With  the  definite  arrangement  of  the  day's  plans, 
a  fresh  energy  had  descended  on  the  party,  and  but  a 
few  minutes  passed  before  Clodagh  and  Nance  rose 
from  the  table  and  left  the  room.  Then,  as  the  two 
men  were  left  alone,  Milbanke  put  into  action  the 
resolution  that  had  been  gradually  maturing  in  his 
mind. 

Not  without  a  certain  trepidation — not  without  an 
embarrassed  distaste  for  the  task — he  bent  forward 
in  his  precise  manner,  and,  drawing  the  check  from 
beneath  his  plate,  began  to  smooth  it  out. 

"Denis,"  he  said,  "I  found  this  on  my  plate  when 
I  came  down-stairs." 

Asshlin  looked  up  hastily  and  laughed.  He  had 
all  the  Irishman's  distaste  to  money  as  a  topic  of 
conversation.  He  was  as  sensitive  in  the  offering  of 
it  to  another  as  in  the  accepting  of  it  for  himself. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right!"  he  said,  quickly.  "Not 
another  word  about  that,  James  —  not  another 
syllable." 

But  Milbanke  continued  to  toy  with  the  check. 

"Denis,"  he  began  again,  a  shade  of  nervousness 
audible  in  his  voice,  "  I  am  tmcertain  how  to  say  what 

47 


THE    GAMBLER 

I  want  to  say.  I  am  extremely  anxious  not  to 
offend  you,  and  yet  I  feel — I  fear  that  you  may  take 
offence." 

Before  replying,  Asshlin  drained  the  cup  of  strong 
tea  that  stood  beside  his  plate;  then  he  glanced 
again  at  his  companion. 

"What  in  thunder  are  you  driving  at?"  he  asked, 
good-humoredly. 

Milbanke  scrutinized  the  check  afresh. 

"That's  what  I  want  to  explain,"  he  answered, 
without  raising  his  head.  "And  you  must  not  allow 
it  to  offend  you.  I  want  you,  for  the  sake  of  old 
friendship,  to  let  me  tear  this  check  up.  I  was 
excited  last  night ;  I  infringed  on  one  of  my  set  rules 
— that  of  never  playing  cards  for  high  stakes.  It 
is  for  my  own  sake  that  I  ask  permission  to  do  this. 
It — it  will  put  me  right  with  myself." 

He  laughed  deprecatingly. 

For  a  second  there  was  no  indication  that  his 
labored  explanation  had  been  even  heard;  then,  with 
alarming  suddenness,  Asshlin  brought  his  hand  down 
upon  the  table,  ripping  out  an  oath. 

"  And  where  the  devil  do  I  come  in  ?"  he  demanded. 
"Is  it  because  you  see  the  place  going  to  rack  and 
ruin  that  you  think  you  can  insult  me  in  my  own 
house?  I'd  have  you  to  know  that  when  an  Asshlin 
needs  charity,  he  will  ask  for  it."  In  the  spasm 
of  rage  that  had  attacked  him,  his  eyes  blazed  and 
the  veins  in  his  forehead  swelled.  Then  suddenly 
catching  a  glimpse  of  the  consternation  on  his  guest's 
face,  he  controlled  himself  by  an  effort,  and  with  a 
loud  laugh  pushed  back  his  chair  and  rose.  "For- 
give me,  James,"  he  said,  roughly.  "You  don't 
understand  —  you  never  did  tmderstand.  It's  the 
cursed  pride  of  a  cursed  country.     The  less  we  have 

48 


THE    GAMBLER 

to  1)0  i)rou(l  of,  the  more  damned  proud  we  arc. 
We  have  a  sense  of  humor  for  everything  in  creation 
except  ourselves."  Again  he  laughed  harshly;  then 
again  his  mood  changed.  "James,"  he  said,  seri- 
ously, "put  that  check  back  in  your  pocket,  and 
if  you  value  my  friendship  never  mention  it  again. 
We  may  be  a  bad  lot;  we  may  be  all  Clo  says  of 
us — fools,  rakes,  spendthrifts — but  no  Asshlin  ever 
shirked  his  debts  of  honor."  The  words  were  bom- 
bastic, the  sentiment  false,  but  the  natural  dignity 
and  distinction  of  the  man — dissipated  failure  though 
he  might  be — were  unmistakable,  as  he  stood  with 
high  head  and  erect  figure. 

By  the  ironic  injustice  of  such  circumstances  Mil- 
banke — honest,  prosaic,  incapable  of  a  dishonorable 
action — felt  suddenly  humiliated.  With  shamefaced 
haste  he  muttered  an  apology  and  thrust  the  check 
into  his  pocket. 

At  the  moment  that  he  did  so  Clodagh  re-entered 
the  room. 

"It's  all  right,  father!"  she  exclaimed.  "The  bay 
will  be  round  in  a  second.  And  Larry  has  come. 
Are  you  ready,  Mr.  Milbanke?". 

He  responded  with  instant  alacrity.  It  was  the 
second  time  that  morning  that  she  had  unconsciously 
come  to  his  relief. 

"Oh,  quite,"  he  said.  "Quite  ready.  Shall  we 
start?" 

"This  minute,  if  you  like.  Good-bye,  father!  I 
hope  'twill  be  a  good  run.  She  crossed  the  room 
quickly,  then  paused  at  the  door.  "Remember,  the 
race  will  be  nothing  at  all  worth  seeing,"  she  added, 
glancing  back  over  her  shoulder  at  the  guest. 


VI 

WITHOUT  ceremony  or  apology  Clodagh  led 
Milbanke  to  the  stables  by  the  shortest  route, 
which  entailed  the  traversing  of  several  long  and 
windy  passages  and  the  crossing  of  the  great,  draughty 
kitchen  where  Hannah — the  housekeeper,  cook  and 
general  mainstay  of  the  establishment- — held  undis- 
puted  sway. 

As  they  entered  her  domain  she  was  standing  by 
an  open  window  engaged  on  the  cleaning  of  a  sauce- 
pan, an  operation  to  which  she  brought  an  astonish- 
ing amount  of  noisy  energy.  At  sight  of  the  stranger 
she  dropped  the  knife  she  was  holding  and  made  a 
furtive  attempt  to  straighten  her  ample  and  some- 
what dirty  apron. 

"Ah,  wisha.  Miss  Olodagh,"  she  began,  in  a  voice 
that  trembled  between  chagrin  and  an  inherent  sense 
of  hospitality,  "isn't  that  a  quare  thing  for  you  to 
be  doin'  now  —  to  be  bringin'  the  gintleman  down 
here — an'  me  in  the  middle  of  me  pots?  Not  but 
what  you're  welcome,  sir — though  'tis  no  fit  place 
for  you,"  she  added,  with  a  glance  that  summed  the 
intruder  up  from  head  to  heel. 

Milbanke  laughed  a  little  awkwardly. 

"So  long  as  you  make  no  objection,"  he  said,  with 
amiable  haste,  "  I  see  nothing  to  find  fault  with." 

But  Hannah  gave  an  incredulous  shake  of  her  head. 
"Ah,  you  do   be    sayin'   that,"  she   replied,   sagely. 

50 


THE    GAMBLER 

"But  'tis  a  quare  place  you'll  be  findin'  Orristown 
after  England,  I'm  thinkin'."  She  added  this  in  a 
persuasive  tone,  making  a  tentative  cast  for  the 
stranger's  sentiments. 

But  before  the  fish  could  rise  to  her  bait  her  atten- 
tion was  claimed  in  another  direction.  A  pellet  of 
mud,  aimed  with  extreme  accuracy,  came  flying 
through  the  open  window  and  hit  her  on  the  cheek. 

Milkanke  glanced  round  quickly ;  Clodagh  laughed ; 
and  the  victim  of  the  assault  gave  a  gasp,  pushed 
her  saucepans  aside,  and  thrust  her  head  through  the 
window. 

"Wait  till  1  catch  you,  Masther  Larry!"  she  cried 
across  the  yard.  "  How  can  I  be  doin'  the  work  of  six 
women  and  three  men  with  the  likes  of  you  trapesin' 
about?  'Pon  my  word,  I'll  tell  on  you  —  I'll  tell 
your  uncle  on  you.     Long  threatenin'  comes  at  last!" 

But  the  only  response  that  greeted  her  was  a 
smothered  laugh  from  the  stables  opposite,  a  laugh 
which  Clodagh  involuntarily  echoed. 

Instantly  Hannah  wheeled  round  from  the  window. 

"Ah,  Miss  Clodagh;  isn't  it  a  shame  for  you?"  she 
exclaimed,  tremulously.  "Isn't  it  a  shame  for  you 
now  to  be  encouragin'  that  brat  of  a  boy?  Sure  'tis 
the  third  time  he  thrun  his  marbles  of  mud  at  me 
this  mornin'.  So  signs,  I'll  spake  to  the  masther. 
I  will  so." 

She  gave  her  apron  a  defiant  tug. 

Milbanke  stood,  uncertain  and  embarrassed,  ner- 
vously curious  as  to  what  Clodagh's  next  move 
would  be.  With  a  certain  misgiving  he  saw  her  face 
brim  over  with  delight;  then,  with  a  sense  of  complete 
amazement,  he  saw  her  step  suddenly  to  the  side  of  the 
indignant  Hannah,  throw  one  arm  impulsively  roitnd 
her  neck,  and  give  her  a  hasty  kiss. 

51 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Indeed  you  won't  speak  to  him,  Hannah — and 
you  know  you  won't,"  she  said,  in  her  most  beguihng 
tones.  "And  you'll  make  a  griddle-cake  for  lunch — 
just  to  show  you  aren't  angry.  Come  on,  Mr.  Mil- 
banke.     Larry  is  waiting." 

As  they  crossed  the  kitchen,  Hannah  defiantly 
passed  the  corner  of  her  apron  across  her  eyes  and 
ostentatiously  resumed  her  interrupted  work. 

At  the  door  Clodagh  looked  back. 

"Hannah!"  she  said,  persuasively. 

Hannah  began  to  scrape  her  saucepan. 

"Go  on  wid  you  now.  Miss  Clodagh,"  she  cried. 
"Sure  'tis  a  pair  of  ye  that's  there.     I'm  out  wid  ye." 

"But  the  griddle-cake,  Hannah?" 

"Let  Betsy  over  at  Mrs.  Asshlin's  make  griddle- 
cake  for  ye.  Maybe  she  wouldn't  put  up  wid  Masther 
Larry  as  aisy  as  me." 

"  Of  course  Betsy  would  make  a  griddle-cake  at  any 
time,"  said  Clodagh,  promptly,  "only  we  couldn't 
eat  it — after  yours." 

For  a  moment  Hannah  made  no  response ;  then  she 
gave  another  disdainful  whisk  to  her  apron  and 
attacked  the  saucepan  with  renewed  force. 

Clodagh  said  nothing  but  took  a  step  forward. 
Her  cheeks  were  bright  and  her  eyes  danced  with 
mischief  and  amusement.  As  her  foot  touched  the 
paving-stones  of  the  yard,  Hannah  raised  her  head. 

"I  suppose  'twill  be  at  wan  ye'll  be  wantin'  the 
lunch?"  she  said,  in  a  suddenly  lowered  and  mollified 
voice,  and  Clodagh  responded  with  a  laugh  of  triumph 
and  delight. 

Outside  in  the  sunshine  of  the  yard,  she  laughed 
again . 

"Hannah  is  an  old  duck,"  she  said.  "She  is 
always    getting    as    cross    as    two    sticks,    and    then 

52 


THE    GAMBLER 

forgetting  all  about  it.     Nobody  could  help  teasing 
her.     But  Where's  Larry  gone  to  ?     Larry!  Larry!" 

There  was  a  pause,  a  stamping  of  horse's  hoofs,  and 
the  sound  of  a  voice  whispering  affectionate  injunc- 
tions to  an  unseen  animal;  then  young  Laurence 
Asshlin  emerged  from  the  stables,  leading  his  chestnut 
cob. 

He  was  a  well-made,  long-limbed  boy  of  fourteen, 
with  skin  as  smooth  and  eyes  as  clear  as  Clodagh's 
own. 

"  Hullo,  Clo!"  he  exclaimed.  "That  was  a  straight 
shot,  wasn't  it?     Was  she  mad?" 

"Pretty  mad,"  responded  Clodagh.  "This  is  Mr. 
Milbanke.     He  came  last  night." 

Young  Asshlin  eyed  the  stranger  frankly  and  with- 
out embarrassment. 

"You're  not  at  the  meet  ?"  he  said,  with  involuntary 
surprise.  "I'd  be  there,  only  mother  doesn't  let  me 
hunt  yet.  She  thinks  I'd  break  my  neck  or  some- 
thing," he  laughed.  "But  I'll  go  to  every  meet 
within  twenty  miles  when  I'm  a  man,"  he  added. 
"There's  nothing  as  good  as  hunting — except  sailing. 
Are  you  much  of  a  sailor?" 

Milbanke  looked  back  into  the  bright,  fearless  eyes 
and  healthy,  spirited  face,  and  again  a  touch  of 
aloofness — of  age — damped  him.  There  was  a  buoy- 
ancy in  this  boy  and  girl — a  zest,  an  enthusiasm  out- 
side which  he  stood  the  undeniable  alien. 

"Yes,  I  am  fond  of  the  sea,"  he  responded;  "but 
probably  not  as  you  are  fond  of  it." 

Try  as  he  might  to  be  natural  and  pleasant,  his 
speech  sounded  stilted,  his  words  staid. 

The  boy  looked  at  him  doubtfully. 

"Didn't  know  there  were  two  ways  of  doing  it," 
he  said,  nibbing  his  face  against  the  cob's  sleek  neck. 

S3 


THE    GAMBLER 

But  Clodagh  came  to  her  guest's  rescue. 

"Larry  doesn't  deserve  any  credit  for  liking  the 
sea,"  she  said.  "His  father  was  a  sailor.  You  go 
on  to  the  fields,  Larry,"  she  added;  "you'll  find  Nance 
waiting  there.  I'll  saddle  Polly  in  a  second,  and  be 
after  you  with  Mr.  Milbanke.  Run  now;  you're  only 
wasting  time." 

Larry  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  he  nodded. 

"All  right,"  he  acquiesced.     "  Only  don't  be  long." 

Instantly  he  was  gone,  Clodagh  handed  her  whip 
to  Milbanke  and  darted  into  the  coach-house,  re- 
appearing with  a  saddle  over  her  arm  and  a  bridle 
swinging  from  her  shoulder. 

"You  are  not  going  to  saddle  the  horse  yourself?" 
he  exclaimed,  in  consternation.  "Let  me  call  one 
of  the  men!     Please  let  me  call  one  of  the  men!" 

Clodagh  laughed. 

"There's  no  one  to  call,"  she  said.  "Burke  is  the 
only  proper  man-servant  we  keep,  and  he  drove  into 
Muskeere  for  provisions  as  soon  as  he  brought  the 
bay  round  for  father.  You  don't  think  I'd  let  any 
of  the  laborers  touch  the  horses!"  As  she  said  this 
she  laughed  again,  and,  nodding  gayly,  passed  into 
one  of  the  stalls. 

After  she  had  disappeared  Milbanke  stood  silent, 
listening  with  an  uncomfortable  embarrassment  to 
the  soft  whinnying  of  the  horse,  the  soft  murmuring 
of  Clodagh's  voice,  the  straining  and  creaking  of 
leather  that  reached  his  ears.  At  last,  yielding  to 
his  instincts,  he  stepped  forward  and  spoke  again. 

"Miss  Clodagh,  let  me  help  you,"  he  said.  "I'm 
afraid  I'm  rather  useless,  but  you  might  let  me  try." 

Again  Clodagh's  soft,  humorous  laugh  answered 
him. 

"It's  done  now,"  she  said.     "And,  anyway,  I've 

54 


THE    GAMBLER 

known  how  to  saddle  a  horse  since  I  was  twelve. 
Stand  back  a  little,  please!" 

He  drew  back  hastily,  and  she  led  out  a  small 
gray  mare. 

"She  isn't  much  to  look  at,"  she  explained,  "but 
she's  grand  to  go — and  I  know  she's  going  to  win. 
She  must  win." 

She  kissed  the  animal  impulsively  on  the  soft, 
quivering  nostril. 

Together  they  threaded  their  way  between  the 
scurrying  fowls  and  innumerable  dogs  that  filled 
the  yard,  Clodagh  leading  the  mare,  Milbanke  keep- 
ing close  to  her  side. 

"What  is  this  race  for?"  he  asked,  as  they  passed 
through  the  arched  gateway.  "A  mere  trial  of 
strength?" 

Clodagh's  eyes  widened. 

"Oh  no,"  she  said,  "that  would  be  silly.  There 
are  stakes,  of  course — Larry's  telescope  against  my 
Irish  terrier.  The  telescope  belonged  to  Uncle  Lau- 
rence and  is  a  beauty;  but  it's  nothing  at  all  to  Mick. 
Mick  is  a  pedigree  dog,  six  months  old,  with  the  finest 
coat  and  the  loveliest  head  vou  ever  saw.  If  I  lost 
him — "  But  here  she  stopped.  "  It's  unlucky  to  say 
that,  isn't  it?"  she  added,  quietly.  "Of  course  I'm 
not  going  to  lose  him." 

Again  she  turned  and  fondled  the  mare,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  they  came  into  view  of  the  long,  level  fields 
that  lay  between  the  house  and  the  sea,  and  saw  the 
erect  figure  of  Larry  clearly  silhouetted  against  the  sky 
as  he  sat  his  cob  with  the  ease  of  the  born  horseman. 

It  took  Milbanke  but  a  few  minutes  to  place  himself 
in  a  safe  and  advantageous  position  on  a  ditch  that, 
dividing  two  of  the  fields,  was  to  form  the  last  jump 
of  the  race;  and  once  ensconced  in  this  pleasant  and 

55 


THE    GAMBLER 

not  uncomfortable  seat,  he  watched  the  cousins  move 
across  the  fields  to  the  point  where  little  Nance  was 
waiting  to  arrange  the  preliminaries.  He  saw  Clodagh 
mount  the  gray  mare,  observed  the  one  or  two  in- 
evitable false  starts,  then  became  conscious  with  a 
quickening  of  interest  that  the  race  had  begun. 

Had  he  been  possessed  of  the  humorous  quality  he 
would  undoubtedly  have  been  drawn  into  a  smile  at 
his  own  position;  as  it  was,  he  saw  nothing  ludicrous 
in  the  idea  of  an  elderly  student  seated  on  an  Irish 
ditch  playing  umpire  to  a  couple  of  children.  As 
the  horses  started,  he  merely  settled  himself  more 
securely  in  his  seat,  and  drew  out  his  handkerchief 
in  obedience  to  the  instinct  that  some  expression  of 
enthusiasm  would  be  demanded  by  the  winner.  He 
could  not  picture  himself  raising  a  cheer  as  the 
conqueror  sailed  past  him;  but  his  dignity  atTably 
bent  to  the  idea  of  a  friendly  wave  of  a  handkerchief. 

A  slight  breeze  was  blowing  in  from  the  sea,  and 
the  intense  freshness  of  the  atmosphere  again  ob- 
truded itself  upon  him  as  he  watched  the  horses  swing 
towards  him  across  the  fields,  the  thud  of  their  hoofs 
upon  the  grass  gaining  in  volume  with  every  stride. 

For  a  space  they  galloped  neck  to  neck ;  then  slowly, 
almost  imperceptibly,  Clodagh  drew  away.  For  a 
couple  of  seconds  the  distance  between  the  animals 
became  noticeable;  then  young  Asshlin  urging  the 
chestnut,  regained  his  lost  position,  and  to  Milbanke's 
eyes  the  two  were  again  abreast  as  they  crossed  the 
last  field. 

Once  more  he  settled  himself  in  his  place  of  van- 
tage. Something  in  the  freshness  of  the  morning, 
something  in  the  youtli  and  vitality  of  the  com- 
petitors gave  the  race  an  interest  and  attraction  it 
would     otherwise    have    lacked.     With    a    reluctant 

56 


THE    GAMBLER 

sensation — half  curiosity,  half  the  alien's  unaccount- 
able attraction  towards  conditions  of  life  other 
than  his  own — he  found  himself  straining  his  eyes 
towards  the  two  slight  figures  moving  towards  him 
across  the  short  grass.  Nearer  and  nearer  they  came, 
maintaining  their  level  positions;  then,  as  the  last 
ditch  came  clearly  into  view,  the  gray  mare  seemed  to 
gather  herself  together  for  the  short,  final  gallop  and 
the  jump.  Leaning  forward,  he  saw  Clodagh  straight- 
en herself  in  the  saddle  as  each  stride  increased  the 
advantage  she  had  gained. 

Unconsciously — with  the  nearer  pounding  of  the 
hoofs — the  excitement  of  the  moment  touched  him. 
But  it  touched  him  with  disastrous  results.  As  the 
mare  neared  the  ditch  he  suddenly  leaned  forward, 
losing  the  balance  he  had  so  carefully  preserved. 

The  action  was  instantaneous,  and  it  was  but  the 
work  of  another  instant  to  grasp  the  sturdy  weeds 
that  topped  the  ditch  and  regain  his  position;  but 
unwittingly  the  harmless  incident  had  changed  the 
result  of  the  race.  As  he  involuntarily  steadied  him- 
self, the  handkerchief  held  in  readiness  for  the 
victor  slipped  from  his  hand  and  fluttered  down 
upon  the  grass. 

It  fell  at  the  feet  of  the  gray  mare.  She  paused  in 
sudden  alarm,  then  hunched  herself  together  and 
shied  away  from  it  as  froin  a  ghost. 

No  harm  was  done.  Clodagh  kept  her  seat  with- 
out a  tremor;  but  in  that  second  of  lost  time  the 
cob  drew  level  with  his  rival,  then  sailed  triumphantly 
over  the  ditch. 

For  Milbanke  there  was  a  moment  of  horrible 
suspense,  and  a  succeeding  relief  that  drove  all 
thottght  of  the  race  and  its  result  far  from  his  mind. 
Immediately  the  held  was  clear,  he  scrambled  from 

57 


THE    GAMBLER 

his  position  and  hurried  to  where  Clodagh  was  sooth- 
ing the  still  frightened  Polly. 

"Miss  Clodagh,"  he  began,  "I  am  so  sorry.  I 
assure  you  it — it  was  not  my  fault." 

Clodagh  was  bending  low  over  the  mare's  neck, 
her  flushed  face  partially  hidden.  She  made  no 
reply  to  his  confused  and  stammering  speech. 

"Miss  Clodagh,"  he  began  afresh,  "you  are  not 
angry  ?     You  don't  think  it  was  my  favilt  ?" 

Clodagh  laughed  a  little  tremulously. 

"Of  course  not,"  she  said.  "How  can  you  be  so 
silly?     I  hadn't  her  properly  in  hand,  that  was  all." 

As  she  finished  young  Asshlin  cantered  back, 
halting  on  the  farther  side  of  the  ditch.  His  face 
was  also  flushed  and  his  eyes  looked  dark. 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  eying  Milbanke.  "What 
did  you  mean  by  balking  her  like  that  ?  What  were 
you  doing  with  your  beastly  handkerchief?  'Twas 
no  race,  Clo,"  he  added. 

But  Clodagh  looked  up. 

"Oh  yes,  it  was,"  she  said.  "It  was  all  my  own 
fault;  I  hadn't  Polly  in  hand.  I  should  have  pulled 
her  together  and  sent  her  over  with  a  touch  of  the 
whip.     Apologize,  Larry.     'Twas  a  fair  race." 

But  Larry  still  hesitated,  his  glance  straying  doubt- 
fully from  one  face  to  the  other. 

"Honor  bright,  Clo?"  he  asked  at  last. 

Clodagh  nodded. 

"Then  I'm  sorry,  sir,"  he  said,  frankly,  "for  saying 
what  I  said." 

Milbanke  made  a  murmur  of  forgiveness;  and  a 
moment  later  Nance  appeared  upon  the  scene,  breath- 
less and  full  of  curiosity.  As  Larry  entered  upon  a 
voluble  account  of  the  finish  in  reply  to  her  eager 
questions,    Clodagh    wheeled    the    mare    round    and 

5S 


THE    GAMBLER 

trotted  quickly  across  the  fields  in  the  direction  of 
the  house. 

For  a  moment  or  two  Milbanke  stood  irresolute; 
then  a  sudden  impulse  to  follow  the  mare  and  her 
rider  seized  him,  and,  ignoring  Nance  and  Larry — 
still  absorbed  in  heated  explanation — he  took  his  way 
slowly  across  the  green  and  springy  turf. 

His  crossing  of  the  fields  was  measured  and  me- 
thodical, and  he  had  barely  come  within  sight  of  the 
arched  gateway  of  the  yard  when  Clodagh  reap- 
peared— this  time  on  foot.  The  tail  of  her  habit  was 
tucked  under  one  arm,  the  struggling  form  of  an 
Irish  terrier  was  held  firmly  under  the  other. 

She  came  straight  forward  in  his  direction,  and, 
reaching  him,  would  have  passed  on  without  speak- 
ing.    But  he  halted  in  front  of  her. 

"Miss  Clodagh,"  he  said,  "you  are  hurt  and  disap- 
pointed." 

Clodagh  averted  her  eyes. 

"I'm  not,"  she  said,  shortly. 

"But  I  see  that  you  are." 

"No,  I'm  not." 

"Miss  Clodagh,  you  are.     Can't  I  do  something?" 

Then  at  last  she  looked  at  him.  Her  cheeks  were 
burning  and  her  eyes  were  brimming  with  tears  that 
only  pride  held  back. 

"It  isn't  the  old  race,"  she  said,  defiantly.  "It's 
— it's  Mick."  Two  tears  suddenly  welled  over  and 
dropped  on  the  red  head  of  the  dog,  who  responded 
with  an  adoring  look  from  his  beautiful  eyes  and  a 
wild  attempt  to  lick  her  face. 

"Oh,  I've  had  him  since  he  was  six  weeks  old,"  she 
cried,  impulsively.  "I  reared  him  and  trained  him 
myself.     He  knows  every  word  I  say." 

Milbanke  suddenly  looked  relieved. 

59 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Is  that  all?"  he  exclaimed,  cheerfully.  "Is  that 
all  ?  We'll  soon  put  that  right.  Keep  your  dog. 
I'll  settle  matters  with  your  cousin."  He  glanced 
back  across  the  fields  to  where  Larry  was  walking 
the  cob  to  and  fro. 

But  Clodagh's  face  expressed  intense  surprise. 

"But  you  don't  understand,"  she  said.  "Mick 
was  the  stake.  'Twas  a  fair  race  and  Larry  won. 
Mick  is — is  Larry's  now." 

He  laughed  a  little. 

"Oh,  nonsensel     You  raced  for  fun." 

"Yes,  for  the  best  fun  we  could  get,"  she  said, 
seriously.  "That's  why  we  staked  what  we  cared 
most  about.     Don't  you  understand?" 

For  the  moment  her  grief  was  merged  in  her  un- 
affected surprise  at  his  lack  of  comprehension. 

But  Milbanke  was  staring  at  her  interestedly.  The 
scene  at  the  breakfast-table,  and  with  it  Asshlin's 
offended  pride  and  ridiculous  dignity,  had  risen  before 
him  with  her  soft,  surprised  tone,  her  wide,  incredulous 
gaze.  With  total  unconsciousness  she  was  voicing 
the  sentiments  of  her  race.  An  Asshlin  might 
neglect  everything  else  in  the  world,  but  his  debts  of 
honor  were  sacred  things. 

He  looked  more  closely  at  the  pretty,  distressed 
face,  at  the  brimming  eyes  and  the  resolutely  set  lips. 

"And  simply  because  you  staked  him,"  he  said, 
"you  intend  to  lose  the  dog?" 

Clodagh  caught  her  breath  and  a  fresh  tear  fell  on 
Mick's  head ;  then  with  a  defiant  lifting  of  the  chin  she 
started  forward  across  the  field. 

"  'Twas  a  fair  race,"  she  said,  in  an  unsteady  voice. 


VII 

WHATEVER  Clodagh  may  have  felt  upon  the 
subject,  she  made  no  further  allusion  to  the  loss 
of  her  dog. 

An  hour  after  the  race  Milbanke,  standing  at  his 
bedroom  widow,  caught  a  glimpse  of  Larry  riding 
slowly  across  the  fields  towards  the  avenue  with  the 
evidently  unwilling  Mick  held  securely  under  his  arm; 
and  a  few  minutes  afterwards  a  noisy  bell  clanging 
through  the  house  informed  him  that  luncheon  had 
been  served. 

The  two  girls  were  already  in  the  dining-room  when 
he  entered.  Clodagh  had  changed  her  riding-habit  for 
a  neat  holland  dress,  her  hair  was  smoothly  plaited, 
and  only  a  lingering  trace  of  the  morning's  excite- 
ment burned  in  her  cheeks. 

As  the  guest  entered  she  came  forward  at  once  and 
pointed  to  his  chair  with  a  pretty  touch  of  gracious 
hospitality. 

"Where  is  your  cousin?"  he  said,  as  he  responded 
to  her  gesture. 

She  flushed  momentarily. 

"  Gone,"  she  answered,  laconically.  Then,  conscious 
that  the  reply  was  curt,  she  made  haste  to  amend  it. 
"He's  gone  home  to  lunch,"  she  said.  "Aunt  Fan 
wanted  him  back.  She's  a  great  invalid  and  always 
worrying  about  him.  I  suppose  invalids  are  never 
like  other  people.     Will  you  please  help  yourself?" 

6i 


THE    GAMBLER 

She  smiled  and  indicated  a  steaming  stew — sufficient 
to  feed  ten  hungry  people  —  that  Hannah,  acting 
in  Burke's  absence,  had  planted  heavily  upon  the 
table. 

"We  always  begin  lunch  with  meat,"  Clodagh  ex- 
plained; "but  we  always  finish  up  with  tea  and 
whatever  Hannah  will  make  for  us  to  eat.  If  you 
stay  long  enough  you'll  be  able  to  tell  all  Hannah's 
tempers  by  what  we  get  at  lunch.  When  she's 
terribly  cross  we  have  bread  and  jam;  when  she's 
middling  we  get  soda  bread;  but  when  she's  really 
and  truly  nice  we  have  currant-loaf  or  griddle-cake!" 

She  glanced  round  mischievously  at  the  red  face 
of  the  factotum. 

Hannah,  who  had  been  wavering  between  offence 
and  amusement,  suddenly  succumbed  to  the  look. 

"  Sure  'tis  a  quare  notion  you'll  be  givin'  him  of  the 
place,"  she  said,  amicably  joining  in  the  conversation 
without  a  shade  of  embarrassment.  "If  I  was  you, 
faith,  I  wouldn't  be  tellin'  a  gintleman  that  I  laves 
the  whole  work  of  the  house  to  wan  poor  ould  woman, 
an'  goes  gallivantin'  over  the  country  mornin',  noon 
an'  night,  instead  of  learnin'  meself  to  be  a  good 
housekeeper.  So  signs,  'tis  Miss  Nance  that  '11  find 
the  husband  first."  With  a  knowing  glance  at  Mil- 
banke  and  a  shake  of  the  head  she  left  the  room, 
banging  the  door  behind  her. 

Clodagh  laughed.  The  insinuation  in  Hannah's 
words  and  look  passed  unnoticed  by  her.  She  swept 
them  aside  unconcernedly  and  proceeded  with  an 
inborn  tact — an  inborn  sense  of  the  responsibilities 
of  her  position,  to  fill  her  role  of  hostess  and  entertain 
her  guest. 

So  successful  was  she  in  this  new  aspect,  that 
Milbanke  found  himself  thawing — even  growing  com- 

62 


THE    GAMBLER 

municative  under  her  influence  as  the  meal  progressed. 
Long  before  the  appetizing  griddle  -  cake  and  the 
hpavy  silver  teapot  had  been  laid  upon  the  table  he 
had  begun  to  feel  at  home;  to  meet  Nance's  shy, 
friendly  smiles  without  embarrassment;  to  talk  with 
freedom  and  naturalness  of  his  small,  personal  am- 
bitions, his  own  unimportant,  individual  researches 
in  his  pet  study  of  antiquity. 

A  reticent  man — when  once  his  reticence  has  been 
broken  down — makes  as  egotistical  a  confidant  as 
any  other.  Before  they  rose  from  table,  he  had 
been  beguiled  into  forgetting  that  the  Celtic  zeal  for 
the  entertainment  of  a  guest  may  sometimes  be  mis- 
taken for  something  more;  that  Irish  children — with 
their  natural  kinship  to  sun  and  rain,  dogs  and  horses, 
men  and  women — may  assume,  but  cannot  possibly 
feel,  an  interest  in  monuments  of  wood  or  stone  no 
matter  how  historic  or  how  unique. 

This  erroneous  impression  remained  with  him  until 
the  time  arrived  for  Clodagh  to  pilot  him  to  Carrig- 
more;  and  filled  with  the  knowledge  of  having  a 
sympathetic  listener,  he  harked  back  to  his  earliest 
experiences  while  he  covered  the  two  miles  of  finn, 
yellow  sand,  with  his  young  hostess  walking  sedately 
beside  him,  and  half  a  dozen  dogs — setters,  retrievers, 
and  sharpnosed  terriers — careering  about  him  in  a 
joyous  band.  He  entered  upon  minute  and  technical 
details  of  every  archaeological  discoverv  of  the  past 
decade;  he  recounted  his  personal  opinion  of  each; 
he  even  unbent  to  the  extent  of  relating  a  dry  anec- 
dote or  two  during  that  delightful  walk  in  the  mellow 
warmth  of  the  afternoon.  It  was  onlv  when  the 
long  curve  of  the  strand  had  at  last  been  traversed 
and  the  rocks  of  Orristown  left  far  behind,  that 
discoveries,   opinions,    and   stories   alike   faded   from 


THE    GAMBLER 

his  mind  in  the  nearer  interest  of  the  Carrigniore 
ruins. 

Even  to  the  pleasure-seeker  there  is  something 
symboHc  and  imposing  in  the  tall,  gray,  symmetrical 
tower  that  tops  the  hill  above  Carrigmore  and  faces 
the  great  sweep  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean ;  something  in- 
finitely ancient  and  impressive  in  the  crumbling 
ruins  of  the  church  from  whose  walls  the  rudely 
carved  figures  look  down  to-day  as  they  looked  down 
in  primitive  Christian  times,  when  Carrigmore  was  a 
centre  of  learning  and  its  tower  a  beacon  to  the 
world  of  faith.  To  Milbanke  —  a  student  of  such 
things — they  were  a  revelation. 

He  scarcely  spoke  as  he  climbed  the  steep  hill  and 
entered  the  grass-grown  church-yard ;  and  once  within 
the  precincts  of  the  ruin  all  considerations  save  the 
consideration  of  the  moment  faded  from  his  thoughts. 
With  the  mild  enthusiasm  that  his  hobby  always 
awoke  in  him,  he  set  about  a  minute  examination  of 
the  ruins,  hurriedly  unstrapping  the  satchel  in  which 
he  carried  his  antiquarian's  paraphernalia. 

During  the  first  half-hour  Clodagh  sat  dutifully  on 
one  of  the  graves,  alternately  plaiting  grasses  and 
admonishing  or  petting  her  dogs;  then  her  long- 
tried  patience  gave  out.  With  a  sudden  imperative 
need  of  action  she  rose,  shook  the  grasses  from  her 
skirt,  and,  picking  her  way  between  the  half -buried 
head-stones,  reached  Milbanke's  side. 

"Mr.  Milbanke,"  she  said,  frankly,  "would  you 
mind  very  much  if  I  went  away  and  came  back  for 
you  in  an  hour?  You  see  the  ruins  aren't  quite  so 
new  to  me  as  they  are  to  you — ])eople  say  they've 
been  here  since  the  fourth  century." 

She  laughed  and  called  to  the  dogs. 

But   Milbanke   scarcely   heard    the   laugh.     There 

64 


THE    GAMBLER 

was  a  flush  of  delight  on  his  thin  cheeks  as  he  peered 
through  his  magnifying-glass  into  one  of  the  carved 
stones.  He  waited  a  moment  before  replying;  then 
he  answered  with  bent  head. 

"Certainly,  Miss  Clodagh,"  he  said,  abstractedly. 
"Certainly.  By  all  means.  But  make  it  two  hours, 
I  beg  of  you,  instead  of  one." 

And  with  another  amused  laugh  Clodagh  took  ad- 
vantage of  her  dismissal. 

Milbanke's  absorption  was  so  unfeigned  that  when 
Clodagh  came  running  back  nearly  three  hours  later, 
full  of  remorse  for  her  long  desertion,  he  greeted 
her  with  something  amounting  to  regret. 

Twice  she  had  to  remind  him  that  the  afternoon 
was  all  but  spent  and  the  long  walk  to  Orristown  was 
still  to  be  reckoned  with  before  he  could  desist  from 
the  fascinating  task  of  completing  the  notes  he  had 
made.  At  last,  with  a  little  sigh  of  amiable  regret,  he 
shut  up  his  book,  returned  the  magnifying-glass  to  his 
satchel,  and  slowly  followed  her  out  of  the  church- 
yard. 

They  had  covered  half  a  mile  of  the  smooth  strand, 
across  which  the  first  long  shadows  of  evening  had 
begun  to  fall,  before  the  glamour  of  the  past  centuries 
had  faded  from  his  consideration  ^permitting  the 
more  material  present  to  obtrude  itself. 

With  a  little  start  of  compunction  he  realized  how 
silent  and  uninteresting  a  companion  he  must  seem 
to  the  girl  walking  so  staidly  beside  him ;  and  with 
something  of  guilt  in  the  movement  he  withdrew  his 
eyes  from  the  long,  wet  line  of  sand  where  the  in- 
coming tide  was  stealthily  encroaching. 

"Miss  Clodagh,"  he  said,  abruptly,  "what  are  you 
thinking  of?" 

65 


THE    GAMBLER 

With  frank  spontaneity  she  turned  and  met  his  gaze. 

"  I  was  wondering,"  she  said,  candidly,"  when  you'd 
forget  the  Round  Tower  and  remember  about  father." 

He  started,  roused  to  a  fresh  sense  of  guilt. 

"You  —  you  mustn't  think.  Miss  Clodagh — "  he 
began,  stammeringly. 

But  Clodagh  laughed. 

"Oh,  don't  bother  about  it,"  she  said,  easily.  "I 
wasn't  really  thinking." 

For  a  while  he  remained  silent,  watching  the  noisy 
dogs  as  they  ineffectually  chased  the  seagulls  that 
wheeled  above  the  unrufifled  waves;  then  at  last, 
urged  by  his  awakened  conscience,  he  half  paused 
and  looked  again  at  the  girl's  bright  face. 

"Miss  Clodagh,"  he  began,  "I  feel  very  guilty — I 
am  very  guilty." 

Clodagh  glanced  back  at  him. 

"How?"  she  said,  simply. 

"Because  last  night  I  unconsciously  did  what  you 
disapprove  of.  I  played  with  your  father  for  high 
stakes,  and  I  am  ashamed  to  say  that  I  won  a  large 
sum  of  money." 

For  an  instant  the  brightness  left  her  glance;  she 
looked  at  him  with  the  serious  eyes  of  the  night  before. 

"Much?"  she  asked,  impulsively. 

"Twenty  pounds."  Milbanke  felt  himself  color. 
Then  he  rallied  his  courage.  "But  that  isn't  all," 
he  added,  quickly.  "  I  have  something  worse  to  con- 
fess. When  I  came  down  to  breakfast  this  morning 
I  found  a  check  lying  on  my  plate.  I  felt  intensely 
remorseful,  as  you  can  imagine,  and  determined  to 
make  reparation.  After  breakfast  I  broached  the 
subject  to  Denis ;  I  begged  him  to  allow  me  to  cancel 
our  play  by  tearing  up  the  check.  He  was  furiously 
angry,   and    I,   instead    of   showing    the    courage   of 

66 


THE     GAMBLER 

ray  opinion,  was  actually  weak  enough  to  succumb. 
Now,  what  punishment  do  you  think  I  deserve?" 
He  paused,  looking  at  her  anxiously. 

For  a  while  she  looked  steadily  ahead,  absorbed  in 
her  own  thoughts;  then  slowly  she  looked  back  at 
him  with  interested,  incredulous  eyes. 

"Don't  English  people  pay  when  they  lose?"  she 
asked,  after  a  long  pause. 

Again  he  colored. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  said,  hurriedly.  "Yes,  of  course, 
only — " 

"Only  what?" 

"Nothing.  Nothing.  It  was  only  that  T  thought 
you  wanted — " 

"I  wanted  you  not  to  encourage  him.  1  never 
wanted  you  to  think  that  he  isn't  a  gentleman." 

She  made  the  statement  with  perfect  naturalness, 
as  though  the  subject  was  one  of  common,  every-day 
discussion.  According  to  her  code  of  honor,  she  was 
justified  in  putting  every  possible  bar  to  her  father's 
weakness;  but  where  the  bar  had  proved  useless, 
where  the  weakness  had  conquered  and  the  deed  she 
disapproved  had  been  accomplished,  then  the  matter, 
to  her  thinking,  had  passed  out  of  her  hands.  Her 
judgment  ceased  to  be  individual  and  became  the 
judgment  of  her  race. 

As  she  looked  at  Milbanke's  perplexed,  concerned 
face  her  expression  changed  and  she  smiled.  The 
smile  was  gracious  and  reassuring,  but  below  the 
graciousness  lay  a  tinge  of  tolerant  indulgence. 

"We  won't  talk  about  it  any  more,"  she  said.  "I 
don't  suppose  you  can  be  expected  to  understand." 
And  suddenly  raising  her  head,  she  whistled  to  the 
dogs. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  walk  Milbanke  was 

67 


THE    GAMBLER 

very  silent.  Perplexed  and  yet  fascinated  by  the 
problem,  his  mind  dwelt  unceasingly  upon  this 
strange  position  into  which  the  chances  of  a  day  or 
two  had  thrown  him.  The  bonds  that  drew  him  to 
his  entertainers,  and  the  gulf  that  separated  him  from 
them,  were  so  tangible  and  yet  so  illusive.  In  every 
outward  respect  they  were  his  fellow-beings;  they 
spoke  the  same  language,  wore  the  same  clothes,  ate 
the  same  food,  and  yet  unquestionably  they  were 
creatures  of  different  fibre.  He  felt  curiously  daunt- 
ed and  curiously  attracted  by  the  peculiar  fact. 

To  appreciate  the  difference  between  the  English- 
man and  the  Irishman  one  must  see  the  latter  in  his 
native  atmosphere.  It  is  there  that  his  faults  and 
his  virtues  take  on  their  proper  values ;  there  that  his 
innate  poetry,  his  reckless  generosity,  his  splendid, 
prodigal  hospitality  have  fullest  scope ;  there  that  his 
primitive  narrowness  of  outlook,  his  antiquated  sense 
of  honor,  and  his  absurdly  sensitive  self-esteem  are 
most  vividly  backgrounded.  Outside  his  own  coun- 
try, he  is  merely  a  subject  of  the  great  empire,  possess- 
ing, perhaps,  a  sharper  wit  and  a  more  ingratiating 
manner  than  his  fellow-stibjects  of  colder  tempera- 
ment; but  in  his  natural  environment  he  stands  out 
pre-eminently  as  a  peculiar  development — the  prod- 
uct of  a  warm-blooded,  intelligent,  imaginative  race 
that,  by  some  oversight  of  nature,  has  been  pushed 
aside  in  the  march  of  the  nations. 

Milbanke  made  no  attempt  to  formulate  this  idea 
or  any  portion  of  it,  as  he  paced  steadily  forward 
across  the  darkening  sands;  but  incontinently  it  did 
flash  across  his  mind  that  the  girl  beside  him  claimed 
more  attention  in  this  unsophisticated  atmosphere 
than  he  might  have  given  her  in  conventional  sur- 
roundings.    She  was  so  much  part  of  the  picture — so 

68 


THE    GAMBLER 

tindeniably  a  child  of  the  sweeping  cliffs,  the  magnif- 
icent sea  and  the  hundred  traditions  that  encircled 
every  sod  of  the  primitive  land.  In  her  buoyant, 
youthful  figure  he  seemed,  by  a  curious,  retrograde 
process  of  the  mind,  to  find  the  solution  to  his  own 
early  worship  of  Asshlin.  Asshlin  had  attracted 
him,  ruled  him,  domineered  over  him  by  right  of 
superiority — the  hereditary,  half-barbaric  superiority 
of  the  natural  aristocrat ;  the  man  of  ancient  lineage 
in  a  country  where  yesterday  —  and  the  glories  of 
yesterday — stand  for  everything,  where  to-day  is 
unreckoned  with  and  to  -  morrow  does  not  exist. 
Reaching  the  end  of  the  strand,  he  turned  to  her 
quickly  with  a  strange  sensation  of  sympathy — almost 
of  apprehension. 

"Miss  Clodagh,"  he  said,  gently,  as  she  began  to 
ascend  the  heaped-up  bowlders  that  separated  the 
road  from  the  beach — "Miss  Clodagh,  I  grant  that  I 
don't  quite  understand,  as  you  put  it;  but  I  knew 
your  father  many  years  before  you  were  born,  and  I 
think  that  gives  me  some  privilege.  On  one  point  I 
have  quite  made  up  my  mind.  I  shall  not  play 
cards  again  while  I  am  in  your  house." 

As  he  spoke  Clodagh  paused  in  her  ascent  of  the 
bowlders  and  looked  at  him.  In  the  softly  deepening 
twilight,  her  eyes  had  a  mysterious  promise  of  the 
great  beauty  they  were  yet  to  possess;  and  in  their 
depths  a  shade  of  respect,  of  surprised  admiration, 
had  suddenly  become  visible.  As  she  gazed  at  him, 
her  lips  parted  involuntarily. 

"T  didn't  think  you  were  so  plucky,"  she  said; 
then  abruptlv  she  stopped,  glancing  over  her  shoulder. 

From  the  road  behind  them  came  the  clicking 
thud  of  a  horse's  hoofs,  and  a  moment  later  the  voice 
of  Asshlin  hailed  them  out  of  the  dusk. 

69 


VIII 

IT  would  be  futile  to  deny  that  the  unexpected 
sound  of  Asshlin's  voice  brought  a  tremor  to  the 
mind  of  his  guest.  It  is  disconcerting  to  the  most  val- 
iant to  be  confronted  with  his  antagonist  in  the  very 
moment  that  he  has  laid  down  his  challenge;  and  at 
best  Milbanke  was  no  hero.  Nevertheless,  he  recovered 
his  equanimity  with  creditable  speed,  and,  exchanging 
a  quick  glance  with  Clodagh,  scrambled  hastily  over 
the  remaining  bowlders  and  reached  the  road. 

As  he  gained  it,  Asshlin  pulled  up  sharply  and  dis- 
mounted from  his  big,  bony  horse  with  all  the 
dexterity  of  a  young  man.  With  a  loud  laugh  of 
greeting  he  slipped  the  bridle  over  one  hand  and 
linked  the  other  in  Milbanke's  arm. 

"Hullo!"  he  cried.  "Now  who'd  have  dreamed 
that  I'd  meet  you  like  this?  I'm  ashamed  of  you, 
James.  Ton  my  word  I  am.  Philandering  across 
the  strand  in  the  fall  of  the  evening  as  if  you  were 
still  in  the  twenties!  It's  with  me  you  should  have 
been.     We  had  the  deuce  of  a  fine  run." 

He  paused  to  push  his  hat  from  his  hot  forehead 
and  to  rearrange  the  bridle. 

Clodagh,  who  had  followed  Milbanke  slowly, 
stepped  eagerly  forward  as  she  caught  the  last  words. 

"Oh,  father,"  she  cried,  "tell  us  about  it?  Who 
was  there?  Was  the  sport  good?  Did  the  bay 
carry  you  well?" 

70 


THE     GAMBLER 

In  her  suddenly  awakened  interest  it  was  clear  to 
Milbanke  that  the  vital  question  she  had  been  dis- 
cussing with  him — the  opinions  he  had  expressed  upon 
it — his  very  existence  even,  were  obliterated  from  her 
mind,  her  natural,  youthful  exuberance  responding  to 
the  idea  of  any  physical  action  as  unfailingly  as  the 
needle  answers  to  the  magnet.  And  again  the  faintly 
l^oignant  sense  of  aloofness  and  age  fell  upon  him,  as 
lie  listened  uncomprehendingly  to  Asshlin's  excited 
flow  of  words,  and  watched  the  bright,  ardent  face  of 
the  girl  glowing  out  of  the  dusk. 

They  made  a  curious  trio  as  they  covered  the 
stretch  of  road  that  led  to  Orristown,  and  passed 
between  the  heavy,  moss-grown  piers  of  the  big  gate, 
entering  the  deep  shade  of  the  avenue.  With  an  in- 
stinctive care  for  his  horse,  Asshlin  went  first,  cau- 
tiously guiding  the  animal  over  the  ruts  that  time 
and  the  heavy  rains  had  ploughed  in  the  soft  ground. 
Behind  him  came  Clodagh,  Milbanke.  and  their  follow- 
ing of  dogs. 

Once  again  the  thought  of  what  the  evening  held 
came  unpleasantly  to  Milbanke's  mind  as  the  shadow 
of  the  gaunt  beech-trees  and  the  outline  of  the  great 
square  house  brought  the  position  home  to  him 
afresh.  Lack  imagination  as  he  might,  he  realized 
that  it  was  no  light  task  to  thwart  a  man  whose 
faults  had  been  cultivated  and  whose  peculiarities — 
racial  and  personal — had  been  accentuated  by  a  quar- 
ter of  a  century  of  comparative  isolation.  But 
instinctively  as  the  thought  came  to  him,  he  turned 
to  the  girl,  whose  erect  figure  had  grown  indistinct 
in  the  gathering  gloom. 

"Miss  Clodagh,"  he  whispered,  "though  I  may  not 
understand,  are  you  satisfied  to  trust  me?" 

There  was  a  pause;  then,  with  one  of  the  sudden 

71 


THE    GAMBLER 

impulses  that  formed  so  large  a  part  of  her  individual- 
ity, Clodagh  put  out  her  hand;  and  for  an  instant 
her  fingers  and  Milbanke's  touched. 

To  every  one  but  Asshlin  the  dinner  that  evening 
was  a  strain.  But  the  silence  or  the  uneasiness  of  the 
others  was  powerless  to  damp  his  enthusiasm.  His 
appetite  was  tremendous;  and  as  he  ate  plentifully 
and  swallowed  glass  after  glass  of  sherry  his  excite- 
ment and  his  spirits  rose.  With  the  ardor  of  the 
born  sportsman,  he  recounted  again  and  again  the 
details  of  the  day's  hunt — dwelling  lovingly  on  the 
behavior  of  the  dogs  and  the  horses,  and  on  the 
prowess  of  his  own  mount.  Finally,  he  rose  from 
table  with  a  flushed  face  though  a  perfectly  steady 
gait,  and,  crossing  the  room,  pulled  the  long  bell-rope 
that  hung  beside  the  fireplace. 

"Now  for  our  night,  James!"  he  cried.  "Now  for 
my  revenge!  Clear  the  table,  Burke,"  he  added,  as 
the  old  man  appeared  in  answer  to  the  summons. 
"  Get  out  the  cards,  and  bring  enough  candles  to  light 
us  all  to  glory."  He  gave  a  boisterous  laugh,  and, 
turning  with  a  touch  of  bravado,  stood  facing  the 
picture  of  his  great-grandfather. 

Instinctively,  as  he  turned  his  back  upon  the 
party,  little  Nance  drew  nearer  to  her  sister,  and 
Clodagh  glanced  at  Milbanke. 

As  their  eyes  met  he  involuntarily  stiffened  his 
small,  spare  figure,  and  with  a  quick,  nervous  manner 
nodded  towards  the  door. 

For  a  moment  Clodagh  hesitated,  her  fear  for  her 
father's  self-control  dominated  by  her  native  interest 
in  an  encounter;  then  Nance  decided  the  matter  by 
plucking  hurriedly  at  her  sleeve. 

"  Don't  stop,  Clo,"  she  whispered,  almost  inaudibly, 

72 


THE     GAMBLER 

her  small,  expressive  face  puckered  with  anxiety. 
"Don't  stop.     I'm  frightened." 

The  appeal  was  instantly  effective.  Clodagh  rose 
at  once,  and  with  one  arm  passed  reassuringly  round 
the  child's  shoulder,  slipped  silently  from  the  room. 

For  some  moments  after  the  two  had  departed, 
Asshlin  retained  his  position;  and  Milbanke,  intently 
watchful  of  his  tall  figure,  held  himself  nervously  in 
hand  for  the  coming  encounter.  At  last,  when  the 
cloth  had  been  removed,  the  candles  renewed,  and 
the  cards  placed  upon  the  table,  Asshlin  turned,  his 
face  flushed  with  anticipation. 

"That's  good!"  he  exclaimed.  "That's  good! 
With  a  fire,  a  bottle  of  port,  and  a  pack  of  cards  a 
man  could  be  happy  in  Hades!  Not  that  I'm  for- 
getting the  good  comrade  that  gives  a  flavor  to 
the  combination,  James.  Not  that  I'm  forgetting 
that." 

His  smile  had  all  the  charm,  his  voice  all  the  warmth 
that  had  marked  them  long  ago,  as  he  drew  his 
chair  to  the  table  and  picked  uj)  the  cards. 

Milbanke  straightened  himself  in  his  seat. 

"Come  along,  man!  Draw  up!  Draw  up  to  the 
table!  What  shall  it  be ?  Euchre  again?  Are  you 
agreeable  to  the  same  stakes?"  Asshlin  talked  on, 
heedless  of  the  strangely  unresponsive  demeanor  of 
his  guest. 

As  he  ceased  to  speak,  however,  Milbanke  took 
the  plunge  he  had  been  contemplating  all  day. 
In  the  silence  of  the  room,  broken  only  by  the  faint, 
comfortable  liissing  of  the  peat  in  the  fireplace  and 
the  rustling  of  the  cards  as  Asshlin  mechanically 
shuffled  them,  he  pulled  his  chair  forward  and  laid 
his  clasped  hands  on  the  table. 

"Denis,"  he  said,  in  his  thin,  quiet  voice,  "1  am 

73 


THE    GAMBLER 

sorry — very  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but  I  cannot 
play." 

Asshlin  paused  in  the  act  of  shuffling  and  laid  the 

cards  down. 

"What  in  the  name  of  fortune  are  you  talking 
about?"  he  asked.  His  tone  was  indulgent  and 
amused;  it  was  evident  that  the  meaning  in  the 
other's  words  had  not  definitely  reached  him. 

"It  is  not  a  joke,"  Milbanke  interposed,  quickly. 
"I  cannot — I  do  not  intend  to  play." 

Then  for  the  first  time  a  shadow  of  comprehension 
crossed  Asshlin's  face — but  it  was  only  a  shadow. 
With  a  boisterous  laugh,  he  leaned  forward  and  filled 
the  empty  glasses  that  stood  upon  the  table,  pushing 
one  across  to  Milbanke. 

"Have  a  drop  of  port,  man!"  he  cried.  "'Twill 
give  you  courage  to  cut." 

He  lifted  and  drained  his  own  glass,  and,  setting  it 
back  upon  the  table,  refilled  it. 

But  Milbanke  remained  immovable.  His  thin 
hands  were  still  clasped,  his  pale  face  looked  anx- 
ious. 

"Go  on,  James.  You're  not  afraid  of  a  drop  of 
wine?" 

Again  he  laughed,  but  this  time  there  was  an  un- 
pleasant ring  audible  in  his  voice. 

Mechanically  Milbanke  lifted  his  glass  to  his  lips. 

"No,"  he  said,  with  embarrassed  deprecation. 
"No,  I'm  more  afraid  of  your  displeasure.  I — I'm 
exceedingly  sorry  to  disappoint  you." 

But  once  more  his  host  laughed. 

"Nonsense,  man.  I  know  your  httle  scruples  and 
your  little  conscience,  and  I'm  not  scared  of  either. 
Never  meet  the  devil  half  -  way.  He  covers  the 
ground  too  quickly  as  it  is."     He  caught  up  the  cards 

74 


THE    GAMBLER 

again,  and,  forming  them  into  a  pack,  held  them  out. 
"Cut!"  he  said,  laconically. 

Milbanke  drew  back  and  his  lips  came  together, 
forming  a  thin  line. 

"Come  on!  Cut!"  The  color  of  Asshlin's  face 
became  a  shade  deeper. 

Still  the  other  sat  rigidly  still. 

For  a  moment  their  eyes  held  each  other;  then 
suddenly  the  blood  surged  into  Asshlin's  neck  rind 
face. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  refuse  to  play  ?"  he 
asked,  slowly.     "That   you   refuse   to   give   me   my. 
revenge  ?" 

Milbanke  met  the  attack  unsteadily. 

"My  dear  Denis— " 

But  before  the  words  had  left  his  lips.  Asshlin 
flung  the  cards  upon  the  table  with  a  force  that  sent 
a  score  of  them  flying  across  the  room. 

"And  may  I  ask  you  for  your  reasons?"  he  de- 
manded, with  alarming  calm. 

Milbanke  fenced. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  play." 

"And  I  don't  wish  to  be  treated  as  a  fool." 

The  other  altered  his  attitude. 

"My  dear  Denis,  you  surely  acknowledge  the  right 
of  free-will?  I  do  not  wish  to  play  cards,  and  there- 
fore beg  to  be  excused.     What  could  be  simpler?" 

His  manner  was  slightly  perturbed,  his  speech  hasty. 
There  was  the  suggestion  of  a  sleeping  volcano  in  his 
host's  unnatural  calm. 

In  the  silence  that  followed,  Asshlin  lifted  his  glass 
and  emptied  it  slowly. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  he  said,  as  he  set  it 
down.  "There  are  unwritten  codes  that  all  the  free- 
will in  the  world  won't  dispose  of.     One  of  them  is 

75 


THE    GAMBLER 

that  a  gentleman  who  wins  at  cards  cannot  refuse  his 
opponent  the  satisfaction  of  his  revenge.  But  per- 
haps the  etiquette  has  changed  since  my  time." 

His  manner  was  still  controlled  but  his  eyes  glittered. 

Milbanke  cleared  his  throat. 

"My  dear  Asshlin,"  he  said,  "we  are  surely  friends 
of  too  long  standing  to  split  hairs  in  this  fashion. 
What  is  this  revenge  that  you  talk  of?  Nothing — 
a  myth — an  imaginary  justification  of  honor." 

A  quick  sound  of  contempt  escaped  Asshlin. 

"And  what  is  every  code  and  every  sentiment  in 
the  world  but  an  outcome  of  imagination?"  he  cried. 
"What  is  it  but  imagination  that  herds  us  off  from 
the  beasts?  I'm  satisfied  to  call  it  imagination.  It 
tells  me  that  I  was  worsted  last  night,  and  that  I'm 
capable  of  better  things  if  I  try  my  luck  again.  And 
I'm  satisfied  to  follow  its  promptings — and  demand 
my  revenge." 

For  a  while  Milbanke  sat  miserable  and  undecided ; 
then,  under  the  goad  of  the  other's  eyes,  he  did  an  ill- 
judged  thing.  Fumbling  nervously  for  his  letter- 
case,  he  rose  from  his  seat  and  walked  across  to  the 
fireplace. 

"There  is  nothing  for  you  to  revenge,"  he  said, 
agitatedly.  "There  was  no  play  last  night.  It's 
cancelled.     I  cancel  it." 

With  tremulous  haste  he  pulled  out  the  letter-case, 
extracted  Asshlin's  check,  and  dropped  it  into  the 
fire. 

There  was  a  pause — a  pause  of  tremendous  mo- 
ment— in  which  he  stood  aghast  at  his  ov/n  deed. 
Then  Asshlin  turned  on  him,  his  face  purple  and 
convulsed  with  rage. 

"You  dare  to  insult  me ?  You  dare  to  insult  me  in 
mv  own  hoyse  ?     You  dare  to  imply  that  it  was  the 

76 


THE    GAMBLE R 

money — the  damned  money — that  1  wanted  to  win 
back?" 

Milbanke  looked  up  sharply. 

"Good  God,  no!"  he  exclaimed,  with  unwonted 
vehemence.  "Such  a  thought  never  entered  mv 
mind." 

"Then  what's  the  meaning  of  all  this?  What  is  it 
all  driving  at  ?" 

Asshlin's  hard,  handsome  face  was  contorted  by 
passion  and  his  hands  shook. 

"Nothing.  It's  driving  at  nothing.  It  is  simply 
that  I  do  not  wish  to  play." 

"And  why  not?"  Asshlin  suddenly  rose,  his  great 
body  towering  above  the  other's.  "Why  not?  By 
God,  I'll  have  an  answer!" 

"There  is  no  answer." 

"No  answer?  We'll  see  about  that.  Who's  been 
lying  to  you  about  me  ?  Who's  been  carrying 
scandals  about  me?     Out  with  it!     Out  with  it!" 

Then  unexpectedly  Milbanke's  trepidation  forsook 
him.     He  suddenly  straightened  himself. 

"No  one,"  he  answered. 

"  No  one  ?     Are  you  quite  sure  ?" 

"No  one." 

"Then  what  do  you  mean  by  this?  What  do  you 
mean  by  meddling  in  my  affairs?" 

He  took  a  menacing  step  forward. 

Milbanke  stood  firm.  "I  have  my  reasons,"  he 
said,  quietly. 

"You  have  your  reasons,  have  you?" 

Asshlin  laughed  harshly.  "Then  I'll  have  my  an- 
swer.    What  do  you  mean  by  it?" 

For  a  second  the  other  remained  silent  and  un- 
moved ;  then  a  light  gleamed  in  his  colorless  eyes. 

"All   right,"   he  said.     "You   shall  have   it.      Pcr- 

77 


THE    GAMBLER 

haps  it  is  as  well.  I  came  here  expecting  to  see  the 
boy  I  had  known  grown  into  a  genial,  hospitable, 
honorable  gentleman;  instead,  I  find  him  an  un- 
disciplined, tyrannical  egotist." 

He  said  it  quickly  in  a  rush-  of  unusual  vehemence. 
All  his  anticipations,  all  his  suspicions  and  their  sub- 
sequent justification — coupled  with  the  new  sense  of 
protection  towards  the  children  of  his  early  friend — 
found  voice  in  the  words. 

"You  are  an  egotist,  Denis,"  he  repeated,  distinct- 
ly. "A  weak,  worthless  egotist — not  fit  to  have 
children — not  fit  to  have  a  friend — " 

Asshlin  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  in  speechless 
surprise;  then  indignation  surmounted  every  other 
feeling.  With  a  fierce  gesture  he  took  another  step 
forward,  his  eyes  blazing,  his  hand  menacingly  clinched. 

"How — how  dare  you!"  he  stammered.  "How 
dare  you!  By  God,  if  you  were  a  bigger  man  I'd — 
I'd—" 

He  paused,  choked  by  his  fury, 

"I  know.  I  know.  But  I'm  not  afraid  of  you. 
I'm  not  to  be  bullied  into  subjection." 

Milbanke's  temper,  difficult  to  rouse,  was  stirred  at 
last.     He  gave  his  host  glance  for  glance. 

"You  realize  what  you  have  said?" 

Asshlin's  dark  face  was  distorted,  his  voice  came 
unsteadily. 

"Yes.  I  regret  that  I  have  had  to  say  it,  but  I  do 
not  regret  saying  it.  It  is  wholesome  for  a  man  to 
hear  the  truth." 

"Oh,  it's  wholesome  to  hear  the  truth,  is  it.?" 

"Yes;  and  I  won't  see  you  go  to  pieces  for  want  of 
hearing  it.  You  are  a  man  with  obligations,  and  you 
are  neglecting  your  obligations.  There  are  other 
things  in  life  besides  cards  and  horses — " 

78 


THE    GAMBLER 

Asshlin  suddenly  threw  back  his  head  with  an- 
other harsh  lau^h. 

"By  God,  you're  right!"  he  cried.  "And  the 
other  things  are  a  damn  sight  worse.  I'd  put  a  good 
horse  before  a  self-righteous  preacher  any  day." 

Milbanke's  usually  pallid  face  flushed. 

"You  mean  that  for  me?"  he  asked,  quietly. 

Asshlin  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"If  you  like,"  he  said.     "If  the  cap  hts— " 

For  a  moment  Milbanke  said  nothing,  then  once 
again  he  straightened  his  small,  thin  figure. 

"Very  well,  Denis,"  he  said.  "I  quite  understand. 
With  your  permission  I  will  say  good  -  bye  to  you 
now,  and  to-morrow  morning  I  will  catch  the  earliest 
train  from  Muskeere." 

He  looked  at  his  host  steadily.  Then,  through  the 
temper  that  still  mastered  him,  a  twinge  of  regret,  a 
sense  of  parting  and  loss  obtruded  themselves.  With 
all  his  intolerable  faults,  Asshlin  still  stood  within 
the  halo  and  glamour  of  the  past. 

"Denis — "  he  exclaimed,  suddenly. 

But  the  appeal  was  made  too  late.  Uncontrollable 
fury — the  one  power  which  could  efface  his  sense  of 
hospitality — possessed  Asshlin.  His  pulses  pounded; 
his  senses  were  blurred.  With  a  seething  conscious- 
ness of  insult  and  injury,  he  turned  again  upon  his 
guest. 

"You  can  go  to  hell  for  all  I  care!"  he  cried, 
savagely. 

For  a  second  Milbanke  continued  to  look  at  him; 
then  without  a  word  he  turned,  crossed  the  room,  and 
passed  into  the  hall. 


IX 


IT  was  on  a  windy  March  morning,  three  years  after 
his  summarily  ended  visit  to  Ireland,  that  James 
Milbanke  stood  in  the  bedroom  of  his  London  flat. 
A  perturbed  frown  puckered  his  forehead  and  he 
held  an  open  letter  in  his  hand. 

Outside,  the  dark  sky  and  cold,  searching  breeze 
proclaimed  the  raw  English  spring;  inside,  the  partly 
dismantled  walls  of  the  room,  the  emptied  drawers 
and  wardrobe,  the  trunks,  bags,  and  rugs  standing 
ready  strapped  all  suggested  another  and  more  in- 
viting climate.     Milbanke  was  bound  for  the  south. 

Three  months  earlier  he  had  come  to  the  momen- 
tous conclusion  that  a  solitary  life  in  London — spent 
no  matter  how  comfortably — becomes  a  colorless  and 
somewhat  empty  thing  after  a  thirty-three  years' 
experience.  He  had  his  club  and  his  friends  it  was 
true,  but  he  was  not  a  clubman  born,  and  friends 
must  be  very  intimate  to  be  all-sufificing.  At  fifty- 
five  that  restlessness  that  sometimes  unexpectedly 
attacks  the  middle  -  aged  bachelor  had  fallen  upon 
him.  The  suggestion  that  he  craved  new  surround- 
ings and  new  fields  of  interest  had  been  slow  in 
coming — and  his  acceptance  of  it  had  been  slow. 
But  steadily  and  inevitably  it  had  grown  into  his 
consciousness,  maturing  almost  against  his  will,  until 
at  last  the  day  had  dawned  on  which  he  had  ad- 
mitted to  himself  that  a  change  was  indispensable. 

80 


THE    GAMBLER 

The  subsequent  events  had  followed  in  natural 
order.  His  hobby  had  urged  him  to  leave  his  own 
country  for  one  richer  in  association;  the  dump 
cold  of  the  English  winter  coupled  with  the  chilled 
blood  of  advancing  age  had  inclined  him  to  the  idea 
of  southern  Europe.  The  result  of  this  triple  sugges- 
tion was  that  he  stood  in  his  room  on  that  sprmg 
morning  in  the  last  stages  of  preparation  for  a 
journey  to  Italy. 

He  stood  there  with  the  discomfort  of  packing 
pleasantly  accomplished  and  the  array  of  his  be- 
longings neatly  surrounding  him;  yet  his  attitude 
and  expression  were  those  of  a  man  who  is  faced 
by  an  insurmountable  and  unlooked  -  for  difificulty. 
With  a  nervous  gesture  he  shook  out  the  letter  that 
lie  held  and  began  to  read  it  hastily  for  the  fourth 
time.  It  was  a  long  letter  written  in  a  careless, 
almost  boyish  hand  on  thin  paper,  and  bore  the 
address  of  "Orristown,  Ireland."  It  was  dated  two 
days  earlier,  and  began: 

"Dear  Mr.  Milbanke, — You  will  be  very  much  surprised 
to  get  this,  but  I  write  for  father  not  for  myself.  He  had  a 
bad  accident  yesterday  while  out  riding  and  is  terribly  hurt 
and  ill.  The  doctor  from  Carrigmore  is  with  him  all  the 
time,  and  my  aunt — as  well  as  Nance  and  I — so  he  is  well 
cared  for.  But  he  seems  to  get  worse  instead  of  better, 
and  we  are  dreadfully  frightened  about  him. 

"There  is  one  thing  he  constantly  craves  for — and  that  is 
to  see  you.  Ever  since  that  night  three  years  ago  when  you 
and  he  quarrelled  and  you  went  away  I  think  he  has  been 
fretting  about  you.  Of  course  he  has  never  spoken  of  it,  but 
I  don't  think  he  has  ever  forgotten  that  he  treated  you 
badly. 

"This  morning  he  talked  a  great  deal  about  the  time  when 

vovi  and  he  were  young  together;  so  much  so  that  I  asked 

him  if  he  would  like  to  sec  you.     The  moment  I  mentioned 

it  his  face  lighted  up,  but  then  at  once  it  clouded  over  again 

6  8t 


THE    GAMBLER 

and  he  muttered  something  about  never  giving  any  man 
the  chance  of  refusing  him  a  favor. 

"That  is  how  he  feels  about  asking  you  to  come  here,  but 
I  feel  differently.  I  would  risk  anything  a  hundred  times 
over  on  the  chance  of  bringing  you  to  him.  And  if  you  are 
in  London  please  do  come  if  only  for  one  night.  Don't  refuse, 
for  he  is  very,  very  bad.  Any  time  you  send  me  a  telegram 
the  trap  can  meet  you  either  at  Muskeere  or  Dunhaven. 

"  This  is  a  dreadful  letter,  but  I  have  been  up  all  night  and 
scarcely  know  what  I  am  writing. 

"Answer  as  soon  as  possible. 

"Yours, 

"Clodagh  Asshlin." 

Milbanke  scanned  the  letter  to  the  last  line;  then 
as  he  reached  the  signature  the  inertia  that  had 
pervaded  his  mind  was  suddenly  dispersed.  His  own 
shock  of  sorrow  and  dismay,  his  own  interrupted 
plans  faded  from  his  consideration ;  and  in  their  place 
rose  the  picture  of  a  great  white  house  on  the  lonely 
Irish  coast;  of  a  sick — perhaps  a  dying — man;  of  two 
frightened  children  and  a  couple  of  faithful,  inefficient 
servants.  With  an  energy  he  had  not  evinced  for 
years  he  crossed  the  room,  stumbling  over  straps 
and  parcels,  and  rang  the  bell  with  imperative  haste. 

When  a  surprised  maid  appeared  at  the  door  he 
turned  to  her  with  unwonted  excitement. 

"I  have  a  telegram  to  send,"  he  said;  "one  that 
must  go  at  once." 

The  rest  of  that  day,  with  its  suddenly  altered  plans, 
its  long  railway  journey  from  Paddington  to  New 
Milford  and  its  stormy  night  crossing  from  the  latter 
point  to  the  town  of  Waterford,  was  too  beset  with 
haste  and  confusion  to  contain  any  definite  recollec- 
tions for  Milbanke.  It  was  not  until  he  had  taken  his 
seat  at  eight  o'clock  next  morning  in  the  small  and 

32 


THE    GAMBLER 

leisurely  train  that  transports  passengers  from  Water- 
ford  to  the  seaport  of  Dunhaven  that  he  found  time 
to  realize  the  significance  of  his  journey ;  and  not  until 
he  descended  from  his  carriage  at  this  latter  station 
and  was  greeted  by  old  Burke  the  Orristown  retainer 
that  he  fully  appreciated  the  gravity  of  the  incident 
that  had  occasioned  it. 

There  was  no  change  apparent  in  Burke's  familiar 
face  save  the  gloom  that  overhung  his  expression. 
But  this  was  obvious  to  Milbanke  at  a  first  glance. 

"You're  welcome,  sir,"  were  his  opening  words; 
then  the  underlying  bent  of  his  thoughts  found  vent. 
" 'Tis  a  sorrowful  house  you'll  be  findin',"  he  'added, 
in  a  subdued  voice. 

Milbanke  glanced  up  sharply  from  the  rug  he  was 
unstrapping. 

"How  is  he?"  he  asked.     "Not  worse?" 

Burke  shook  his  head. 

"'Twouldn't  be  wishin'  for  me  to  give  you  the 
bad  word — "  he  began,  deprecatingly. 

"  Then  he  is  bad  ?" 

The  old  man  pursed  up  his  lips. 

"Ah,  I'm  in  dread 'tis  for  his  long  home  he's  bound," 
he  said,  reluctantly.  "Glory  be  to  God  an'  His  holy 
ways!  But  'tis  of  thim  two  poor  children  that  I  do 
be  thinkin'." 

But  Milbanke's  mind  was  occupied  with  his  first 
words. 

"  But  how  is  he  ?"  he  demanded.  "  What  is  the  in- 
jury ?     Has  he  an  efficient  doctor?" 

Again  Burke  shook  his  head. 

"Docthors?"  he  said,  dubiously.  "  Wisha,  I  don't 
put  much  pass  on  docthors;  not  but  what  they  say 
Docthor  Gallagher  from  Carrigmore  is  a  fine  hand 
wid  the  knife.      But  sure  when  the  Almighty  takes 

83 


r 


THE    GAMBLER 

the  notion  to  break  every  bone  in  a  man's  body, 
'tisn't  for  the  Hke  of  docthors  to  be  settin'  up  to 
mend  them." 

With  this  piece  of  pessimistic  philosophy  he  picked 
up  Milbanke's  bags  and  rug  and  guided  him  through 
the  small  station  into  the  open,  where  the  Orristown 
trap  stood  waiting  in  a  down-pour  of  rain. 

He  imparted  little  more  information  during  the 
long  drive,  and  Milbanke  had  to  sit  under  his  dripping 
umbrella  with  as  much  patience  as  they  could  muster 
while  they  ploughed  forward  over  an  execrable  road. 

The  gateway  of  Orristown,  when  at  last  it  was 
reached,  looked  mouldy  and  forlorn  in  the  chilly 
damp  of  the  atmosphere ;  and  as  they  plunged  up  the 
avenue  at  the  usual  reckless  pace,  a  perfect  torrent  of 
rain-drops  deluged  them  from  the  intersecting  branches 
of  the  trees.  Yet  despite  the  gloom  and  the  discom- 
fort a  thrill  of  something  like  pleasure  filled  Milbanke 
as  a  whiff  of  clean,  cold  air  brought  the  scent  of  the 
sea  to  his  nostrils  and  the  turn  of  the  avenue  showed 
the  square  house,  white  and  massive  against  the  gray 
sky. 

But  he  was  given  little  time  to  indulge  in  the 
pleasure  of  reminiscence,  for  instantly  the  trap  drew 
up  the  hall  door  was  thrown  open,  showing  a  face 
and  figure  that  sent  everything  but  the  moment  and 
the  business  in  hand  far  from  his  mind. 

It  was  Clodagh  who  stood  there  waiting  to  greet 
him — Clodagh,  curiously  changed  and  grown  in  the 
three  years  that  had  passed  since  their  last  meeting. 
In  place  of  the  spirited,  unformed  child  that  he 
remembered,  Milbanke  saw  a  very  young  girl,  whose 
boyishness  of  figure  had  disappeared  in  slight  feminine 
curves,  whose  bright,  fearless  eyes  had  softened  into 
uncommon  beauty. 

84 


THE    GAMBLER 

With  a  glow  of  relief  lighting  up  her  face,  she 
stepped  forward  as  the  horse  halted,  and,  heedless  of 
the  rain  that  fell  on  her  uncovered  head,  laid  one 
hand  on  the  shaft  of  the  trap. 

"Oh,  it's  good  of  you!  It's  good  of  you!"  she 
exclaimed.  "We  can  never  forget  it."  Then  the 
color  flooded  her  cheeks  and  her  eyes  filled.  "Oh, 
he's  so  bad!"  she  added.  "It's  so  terrible  to  see 
him — so  terrible." 

She  looked  up  with  alarm  and  impotence  into 
Milbanke's  face. 

But  it  was  not  the  guest  but  old  Burke  who  found 
words  to  calm  her  fear  and  grief.  Leaning  down 
from  his  seat,  he  laid  a  rough  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"Whist,  now.  Miss  Clodagh!"  he  said,  softly. 
"Whist  now!  Sure  God  is  good.  While  there's  life 
there's  hope.  Don't  be  believin'  anythin'  else. 
Sure  what  is  he  but  a  young  man  yet?" 

"That's  true,  Burke!  That's  true!"  Clodagh  ex- 
claimed, quickly.  "Won't  you  come  in,  Mr.  Mil- 
bankc  ?"  she  added.  "You  know  how  welcome  you 
are. 

Once  inside  the  hall,  she  turned  to  him  quickly  and 
confidingly. 

"I  can  never  forget  that  you've  done  this,"  she 
said.  "It's  a  really,  really  generous  thing.  But  all 
my  mind  is  full  of  father.  You  can  understand,  can't 
you  r 

Her  agitation,  her  alarm,  her  evident  helplessness 
in  presence  of  a  contingency  never  previously  faced, 
all  touched  him  deeply.  His  tone  was  low  and 
gentle  as  he  responded. 

"I  understand  perfectly  —  perfectly,"  he  said. 
"Poor  Denis!  Poor  Denis!  How  did  the  thing 
occur?" 

8S 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Oh,  just  an  accident — just  an  accident.  About 
six  months  ago  he  took  a  fancy  for  riding  late  at 
night.  He  used  to  ride  for  miles  along  the  most 
dangerous  paths  of  the  cliff.  I  knew  it  wasn't  safe;  I 
said  so  over  and  over  again.  But  you  know  father!" 
She  gave  a  little  hopeless  shake  of  her  head.  "On 
Monday  night  he  saddled  one  of  the  young  horses  at 
about  ten  o'clock  and  went  out  by  himself.  It  came 
to  twelve  and  he  hadn't  returned.  Then  we  began 
to  get  uneasy,  and  at  one  o'clock  we  started  to  look 
for  him.  After  a  search  all  along  the  cliff,  we  found 
him  wedged  between  two  of  the  upper  ledges  of  the 
rocks  terribly — terribly  hurt."  She  shuddered  pal- 
pably at  the  recollection.  "We  didn't  know  —  we 
don't  know  even  now — quite  how  it  happened.  But 
we  think  the  horse  must  have  lost  his  footing  and 
fallen  over  the  cliff,  throwing  father,  for  the  poor 
thing  was  found  dead  on  the  shingle  next  morning- 
'Twas  a  miracle  that  father  escaped  with  his  life,  but 
he's  terribly  injured." 

She  paused  again,  as  though  the  subject  was  too 
painful  to  be  pursued. 

Milbanke  looked  at  her  compassionately. 

"Has  he  had  proper  medical  advice?"  he  asked. 

"Oh  yes.  Dr.  Gallagher  from  Carrigmore  has  done 
everything  and  we  have  a  trained  nurse  from  Water- 
ford." 

"That's  right.  I  must  have  a  talk  with  the  doctor. 
But  how  is  Denis  now?  Will  he  know  me,  do  you 
think?" 

"Oh  yes.  Ever  since  the  first  night  he  has  been 
quite  conscious.  He  expects  you.  He's  longing  to 
see  you." 

"Then  may  I  go  to  him?" 

Clodagh  nodded,  and,  turning,  led  the  way  silently 

86 


THE     GAMBLER 

u[)  the  remembered  staircase.  On  the  landing  the 
recollection  of  their  curious  interview  on  his  first 
night  at  Orristown  recurred  forcibly  to  Milbanke. 
He  glanced  at  his  guide  to  see  if  it  had  any  place  in 
her  mind;  but  her  thoughts  were  evidently  full  of 
other  things.  With  a  quick  gesture  that  enjoined 
silence,  she  led  him  down  the  corridor,  upon  which 
rough  fibre  mats  had  been  strewn  to  deaden  sound. 

With  that  pecuHar  sensation  of  awe  that  serious 
illness  always  engenders,  he  tiptoed  after  her,  a 
sense  of  apprehensive  depression  growing  upon  him 
with  every  step.  As  they  neared  the  end  of  the 
passage,  a  door  opened  noiselessly  and  two  figures 
emerged  from  a  darkened  room.  The  taller  of  the 
two — a  pale,  emaciated  woman  dressed  in  mourning 
— was  unknown  to  him,  but  a  glance  told  him  that  the 
latter  was  little  Nance,  grown  to  pretty,  immature 
girlhood. 

On  catching  sight  of  him,  she  drew  back  with  a 
passing  touch  of  the  old  shyness;  but,  conquering  it 
almost  directly,  she  came  forward  and  shook  hands 
in  silence.  In  the  momentary  greeting  he  saw  that 
her  vivacious  little  face  was  red  and  marred  by 
tears ;  but  before  he  had  time  for  further  observation 
Clodagh  touched  his  arm. 

"My  aunt,  Mrs.  Asshlin."  she  whispered. 

Milbanke  bowed,  and  Mrs.  Asshlin  extended  her 
hand. 

"We  meet  on  a  sad  occasion,  Mr.  Milbanke,"  she 
murmured,  in  a  low,  querulous  voice.  "My  poor 
brother-in-law  was  always  such  a  rash  man.  But 
with  some  people,  you  know,  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  remonstrating.  Even  this  morning  when  Mr. 
Curry,  our  rector  from  Carrigmore,  came  to  have  a 
little  talk  with  him  he  was  barely  polite;  and  it  was 

87 


r 


THE    GAMBLER 

only  yesterday  that  we  dared  to  tell  him  that  Dr. 
Gallagher  insisted  on  having  a  nurse.  Now  what 
can  you  do  with  a  patient  like  that?" 

Milbanke  murmured  something  vaguely  unintelli- 
gible, and  Clodagh  stirred  impatiently. 

"Did  you  give  him  the  medicine,  Aunt  Fan?"  she 
asked. 

"I  did;  but  with  great  difficulty.  My  brother-in- 
law  has  always  been  averse  to  medical  aid,"  she 
explained  to  Milbanke. 

"He's  never  had  any  need  of  it,"  Clodagh  whis- 
pered, sharply.  "  Will  you  come,  Mr.  Milbanke  ?  He's 
quite  alone.     The  nurse  is  resting. 

With  great  dignity  Mrs.  Asshlin  moved  away. 

"I  shall  ask  Hannah  to  get  me  a  cup  of  tea, 
Clodagh,"  she  murmured.  "I  get  such  a  headache 
from  a  sick-room." 

Without  replying,  Clodagh  turned  again  to  Mil- 
banke. 

"He's  not  to  get  excited."  she  whispered.  "And 
mind — mind — don't  say  that  3"ou  think  him  looking 
badly." 

She  paused  and  laid  her  fingers  lightly  on  his  arm, 
then  with  a  swift  movement  she  stepped  forward, 
drawing  him  with  her  into  the  big,  darkened  room 
with  its  sense  of  preternatural  quiet  and  its  pungent, 
suggestive  smell  of  drugs  and  antiseptic  dressings. 


WITH  a  strange  blending  of  curiosity  and  shrink- 
ing, Milbanke  obeyed  the  pressure  of  Clodagh's 
hand  and  moved  forward  into  the  room.  The  cold 
March  daylight  was  partly  excluded  by  drawn  blinds, 
but  a  glow  from  the  fire  played  upon  the  walls  and 
the  high  four-post  bedstead. 

With  the  same  mingling  of  curiosity  and  dread,  his 
eyes  fell  at  once  upon  this  prominent  article  of 
furniture  and  remained  fixed  there  in  doubt  and 
incredulity.  For  the  moment  his  senses  refused  to 
acknowledge  that  the  feverish,  haggard  face  that 
stared  at  him  from  the  pillows  was  the  face  of  Asshlin 
— Asshlin,  tyrannical,  passionate,  greedy  of  life. 

In  the  hours  of  agony  that  he  had  passed  through, 
the  sick  man's  features  had  become  shrunken, 
causing  his  eyes  to  stare  forth  preternaturally  large 
and  restless;  his  hair  had  been  cropped  close — to 
allow  of  the  dressing  of  a  wound  over  the  temple — 
and  the  tight  white  bandages  lent  a  strange  and  un- 
familiar appearance  to  his  finely  shaped  head.  With 
a  sick  sensation,  Milbanke  went  slowly  forward. 

The  patient  made  no  attempt  to  move,  aS  he 
drew  near  the  bed,  but  his  feverishly  bright  glance 
seemed  to  devour  his  face. 

"Here  he  is,  father!"  Clodagh  exclaimed,  softly 
and  eagerly.  "Here's  Mr.  Milbanke!  Now  aren't 
you  happy?     He's  not  able  to  move,"  she  explained, 

89 


THE    GAMBLER 

turning  to  the  guest.     "It  gives  him  terrible  agony 
to  stir." 

Milbanke  had  reached  the  bed,  and,  with  a  sensa- 
tion of  awkwardness  and  impotence  impossible  to 
describe,  he  stood  looking  down  upon  Asshlin. 

"My  poor  Denis!"  he  said.  " My  poor,  poor  friend! 
This  is  a  bad  business.     I  had  no  idea — " 

Then  he  paused  confvisedly,  remembering  Clodagh's 
warning. 

"But  we'll  see  you  laughing  at  it  all  before  we're 
much  older,"  he  added,  in  awkward  haste  to  make 
amends. 

A  gleam  of  something  like  irony  crossed  Asshlin's 
watchful   eyes. 

"I'm  done  for  this  time,  James,"  he  said,  feebly. 
"I  suppose  I've  had  my  day,  and,  like  every  other 
dog,  must  answer  to  the  whistle.  Well,  I  don't  com- 
plain. I'm  getting  more  than  my  deserts  in  seeing 
you  again.     You're  as  welcome  as  the  flowers  in — " 

His  voice  failed. 

"  I  know.  I  know.  Don't  trouble.  Don't  try  to 
speak."     Milbanke  bent  over  him  anxiously. 

But  Asshlin  glanced  back.  "Ah,  but  that's  what 
I  must  do,  James,"  he  said,  sharply.  "That's  what 
I  want  you  for.     I  have  something  that  must  be  said." 

Milbanke  turned  to  Clodagh. 

"Is  it  right  of  him  to  excite  himself?"  he  asked,  in 
distress.  "  If  it's  anything  that  you  reproach  yourself 
with,  Denis — " 

But  Asshlin  interrupted  with  a  weak  echo  of  his 
old  intolerance. 

"Send  Clo  awa^^"  he  said.  "There's  something  I 
want  to  say." 

Again  Milbanke  looked  helplessly  at  Clodagh,  but 
her  eyes  were  fixed  passionately  on  her  father's  face. 

90 


THE    GAMBLER 

"He'll  excite  himself  more  if  we  cross  him,"  she 
said,  hesitatingly.     "I  think  I'd  better  go." 

Still   Milbanke  hesitated. 

"But  the  doctor?"  he  hazarded.  "If  the  doctor 
insists  on  quiet — " 

She  glanced  at  him  quickly,  her  clear  eyes  brim- 
ming. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"  she  exclaimed.  "1  can't 
cross  hini.  I  can't  cross  him.  He's  wanted  you  so 
badly." 

She  turned  quickly  towards  the  bed. 

"Father,"  she  said,  tenderly,  "won't  you  promise 
not  to  talk  much  ?  Won't  you  promise  to  take 
carer 

For  answer  Asshlin  looked  up,  meeting  her  glance. 

"I'll  promise,  child.  I'll  promise.  Run  away 
now — and  God  bless  you!"  He  added  the  expressive 
native  phrase  in  a  suddenly  lowered  voice. 

Clodagh  bent  quickly  and  kissed  his  hot,  drawn 
face  with  passionate  affection;  then,  as  if  fearing  to 
trust  herself,  she  turned  hastily  and  passed  out  of 
the   room. 

Instantly  the  two  men  were  alone,  Asshlin  turned 
to  his  guest. 

"James,"  he  said,  agitatedly,  "I  haven't  thought 
much  about  the  Almighty  in  these  last  years,  but  I 
give  you  my  word  I  have  prayed  that  I  might  see 
you  before  I  die." 

"Mv  dear  Denis,  don't!  I  beg  you  not  to  excite 
yourself.     I  implore  you — " 

Asshlin  made  a  harsh  sound  of  impatience. 

"Don't  waste  breath  over  a  dying  man,"  he  said, 
roughly.  Then,  seeing  the  distress  in  the  other's  face, 
he  altered  his  tone.  "  Don't  take  it  to  heart,  James. 
It's  the  road  we  must  all  travel.     They  think  there's 

91 


THE    GAMBLER 

life  in  me  yet,  but  I  know  better.  You  may  blind- 
fold a  sheep  as  much  as  you  like,  but  'twill  know 
that  you're  dragging  it  to  the  slaughter.  I  tell  you 
I'm  done  for — as  done  for  as  if  the  undertaker  had 
measured  me  for  the  coffin."  He  moved  his  head 
slightly  and  painfully,  his  feverish  glance  brightening. 

"James,"  he  exclaimed,  suddenly,  "  I'm  in  a  terrible 
position!     But  'tisn't  death  that's  troubling  me." 

"Denis!" 

"'Tis  true!  I'm  not  frightened  of  death — I  hope 
I'm  man  enough  to  face  a  natural  law.  'Twould 
have  been  better  if  I'd  had  to  face  it  thirty  years  ago." 

"Denis,  don't!     I  beg  you  to  keep  quiet — " 

"Quiet?  I  tell  you  there's  not  much  quiet  for  a 
man  like  me.  'Tisn't  what  I'm  going  to  that's 
troubling  me,  but  what  I'm  leaving  behind.  I'll 
be  paying  my  own  score  on  the  other  side;  but  here, 
'tis  others  will  be  paying  it  for  me." 

His  burning  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  Milbanke's. 

"But,  my  dear  old  friend — " 

"Don't  talk  to  me,  James.  Don't  waste  words 
on  me.  I'm  broke  inside  and  out.  I'm  smashed. 
I'm  done  for."  A  spasm  of  pain,  mental  and  physical, 
twisted  his  features.  "The  weak,  worthless  egotist 
has  come  to  the  end  of  his  rope!"     He  tried  to  laugh. 

Milbanke,  in  deep  apprehension,  laid  his  hand 
lightly  on  the  other's  shoulder. 

"Denis,"  he  pleaded,  "don't  talk  like  this!  Don't 
torture  yourself  like  this!" 

Asshlin  groaned. 

"'Tis  involuntary!"  he  cried.  "'Tis  wrung  from 
me.  Every  time  they  come  into  the  room — every 
time  I  see  the  tears  in  their  eyes — every  time  they 
kiss  me,  I  tell  you  1  taste  hell." 

"Who?" 

92 


THE    GAMBLER 

» 

"The  children.  My  children."  Another  spasm 
crossed  his  face.  "You  once  told  me  I  was  not  fit 
to  have  children,  James — and  you  were  right.  By 
God,  you  were  right!" 

"Denis,  I  refuse  to  listen.      I  insist — I — " 

"Don't  bother  yourself!  'Tisn't  of  my  damned 
health  I'm  thinking." 

"Then  what  is  it?     What  is  troubling  you?" 

"The  children^the  children.  I've  been  a  black- 
guard. James— a  blackguard."  He  moved  his  head 
sharply,  regardless  of  the  agony  the  movement 
caused.  "I  tell  you  I  don't  care  what's  before  my- 
self. I've  always  been  a  reckless  fool.  But  'tis  the 
children — the  children." 

"What  of  the  children?" 

A  sound  of  mockery  and  despair  escaped  Asshlin. 

"Ah,  you  may  well  ask,"  he  said.  "You  may  well 
ask.  'Tis  the  question  I've  been  putting  to  myself 
every  hour  since  they  laid  me  here.  You  know  the 
world.  James.  You  know  what  the  world  will  be  to 
two  pretty,  penniless  girls.  And  they're  so  un- 
conscious of  it  all!  That's  the  sting  of  it.  They're  so 
unconscious  of  it  all!  They  care  for  me,  they  cling 
to  me  as  if  I  were  a  good  man,  and  in  five  years'  time 
they  may  be  cursing  the  hour  they  were  born."  A 
fresh  groan  was  wrung  from  him. 

A  look  of  apprehension  crossed  Milbanke's  face. 

"Oh  no,  Denis!"  he  exclaimed,  quickly.  "No. 
Things  can't  be  like  this.  Your  suflfering  has  told 
upon  your  nerves.     Things  can't  be  like  this." 

"They  are  worse.  I  tell  you  these  two  children 
will  face  life  without  a  penny." 

"No,  no.  You  exaggerate.  Why,  even  if  you  were 
to  die  they  would  still  have  the  place.  The  place 
must  be  worth  something." 

93 


THE    GAMBLER 

« 

"Ah,  if  I  could  only  drug  my  conscience  with  that 
thought!  But  I  can't — I  can't.  Before  I'm  cold  in 
my  grave  my  creditors  will  be  down  on  the  property 
like  a  swarm  of  rats." 

"No,  no." 

"Yes.  I  tell  you  yes.  The  children  will  be  home- 
less as  well  as  penniless." 

Milbanke  glanced  about  him  in  deep  perplexity. 

"There's  your  sister-in-law — "  he  hazarded,  at 
length. 

"Fan?"  Asshlin  made  a  contemptuous  grimace. 
"  Fan  is  as  poor  as  a  church  mouse  already.  Lawrence 
had  nothing  to  leave  her;  the  navy  beggared  him. 
No,  Fan  can  do  nothing  for  them.  And,  anyway,  she 
and  Clodagh  couldn't  stand  each  other  for  a  twelve- 
month. You  might  as  well  try  to  blend  fire  and 
water.  No,  there's  no  way  out  of  it.  I'm  reaping  the 
whirlwind,  James.     I'm  reaping  it  with  a  vengeance." 

The  fever  of  his  suflfering  and  the  excitement  of  his 
remorse  were  burning  in  his  eyes.  In  the  three  days 
of  his  illness  his  natural  exuberance  of  mind  had 
been  directed  towards  one  point  only  —  the  tardily 
aroused  knowledge  of  the  future  that  awaited  his 
children.  And  the  consequence  had  been  a  piteous 
intermingling  of  realization  and  partial  delirium. 
His  agony  and  helplessness  were  pitiable  as  he 
turned  again  to  his  friend. 

"What  am  I  to  do,  James?"  he  asked.  "What 
am  I  to  do?" 

Milbanke  bent  over  him. 

"Denis!     Denis!"  he  pleaded. 

"But  what  am  I  to  do?  Advise  me  while  there's 
time.  "'Tis  for  that  I've  wanted  you.  You've  al- 
ways been  a  good  man.     What  must  I  do?" 

Milbanke  tightened  his  lips. 

94 


THE    GAMBLER 

"You  have  friends,"  he  said. 

"Ah,  but  how  many?     And  where?" 

There  was  no  response  for  a  moment,  as  Milbanke 
slowly  straightened  himself  and  glanced  across  the 
room  towards  the  fire.  Then  very  quietly  he  turned 
towards  the  bed. 

"You  have  one — here,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

For  an  instant  Asshlin  answered  nothing;  then  an 
odd  sound — something  between  a  laugh  and  a  sob — 
shook  him. 

"James!"  he  cried.     "James!" 

But  Milbanke  leaned  forward  hastily. 

"Not  a  word!"  he  said.  "Not  one  word!  If 
thanks  are  due,  it  is  from  me  to  you.  It  is  not 
every  day  that  human  responsibilities  fall  to  an  old 
bachelor  of  fifty-five." 

Asshlin  remained  silent.  Dissipated,  blunted,  de- 
generate though  he  might  be,  his  native  intuition 
was  unimpaired ;  and  in  a  flash  of  illumination  he  saw 
the  grade  of  nobility  —  the  high  point  of  honor  to 
which  this  prosaic,  unimaginative  man  had  attained 
in  that  moment  of  need.  With  a  pang  of  acute  pain, 
he  freed  his  uninjured  arm  and  shakingly  held  out 
his  hand. 

"There  are  no  friends  like  the  old  friends,  James," 
he  said,  in  a  broken  voice. 


XI 


ASSHLIN  scarcely  spoke  again  during  the  early 
_  portion  of  that  day.  The  immense  effort  of 
his  explanation  to  Milbanke  left  him  correspondingly 
weak;  though  through  all  his  exhaustion  a  look  of 
peace  and  satisfaction  was  visible  in  his  eyes. 

During  the  whole  morning  Milbanke  remained  at 
his  bedside,  only  leaving  the  room  to  partake — at 
Clodagh's  urgent  request — of  a  hurried  meal  in  the 
deserted  dining-room.  At  twelve  o'clock  the  nurse 
resumed  her  duties,  and  soon  afterwards  the  dis- 
pensary doctor  from  Carrigmore  drove  over  to  see 
his  patient.  Before  he  came  into  the  sick  -  room 
Milbanke  left  it;  but  when — his  examination  over — 
he  departed  with  a  whispered  injunction  to  the  nurse, 
he  found  the  stranger  waiting  for  him  in  the  corridor. 

Milbanke  stepped  forward  quickly  as  he  appeared, 
and  silently  motioned  him  down  the  passage  to  his 
own  room,  inviting  him  to  enter  with  a  punctilious 
gesture. 

"Dr.  Gallagher,  I  believe?"  he  said.  "Allow  me 
to  introduce  myself.  My  name  is  Milbanke.  I  am 
a  very  old  friend  of  your  patient." 

With  a  slow  but  friendly  gesture  the  young  man 
held  out  his  hand. 

"Oh,  1  know  all  about  you,"  he  said.  "I'm  glad 
to  make  your  acquaintance." 

His  voice,  with   its  marked  Irish  accent,  was  soft 

96 


THE     GAMBLER 

and  pleasant  and  his  glance  was  good-natured;  but 
his  tanned  skin  and  rough  shooting-suit  suggested  the 
sportsman  rather  than  the  medical  practitioner. 

Milbanke  eyed  him  quickly. 

"Then  you  won't  misunderstand  anything  I  may 
say?" 

Gallagher  smiled. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he  answered,  nonchalantly.  "And, 
what's  more,  1  think  I  know  what  it's  going  to  be." 

A  shade  of  confusion  passed  over  the  Englishman's 
face.  His  understanding  was  still  unattuned  to  the 
half-shrewd,  half-inquisitive  tendencies  of  the  Celtic 
mind.  With  a  shadowy  suspicion  that  he  was  being 
unobtrusively  ridiculed,  he  became  a  degree  colder. 

"I  am  grieved  beyond  measure  at  Mr.  Asshlin's 
condition,  Dr.  Gallagher,"  he  said,  "and  it  has  struck 
me — it  as  been  suggested  to  my  mind  that  possibly  " 
— he  stopped  uncertainly — "that  possibly — " 

"That  perhaps  there  ought  to  be  another  opinion  ?" 
Gallagher  looked  at  him  complacently.  "Well,  may- 
be you're  right.  'Tisn't  because  /  condemn  him  that 
he  shouldn't  appeal  to  a  higher  court." 

Milbanke  started. 

"Then  you  think  poorly  of  his  chances?" 

Gallagher  shook  his  head  expressivelv. 

"You  despair  of  him?" 

A  pang  of  unexpected  grief  touched  Milbanke.  He 
realized  suddenly  how  distant,  vague,  and  yet  how 
real  a  part  the  ideal  of  his  youth  had  played  in  his 
life  and  thoughts;  how  deep  a  niche,  unknown  to 
them  both,  Asshlin  had  carved  for  himself.  With  a 
sense  of  loss  altogether  disproportionate  to  circum- 
stances, he  turned  again  to  the  doctor. 

"Yes,    I    should    like    another    opmion,"    he    said, 
quickly.     "The  best  we  can  get — the  best  m  Ireland. 
7  97 


THE    GAMBLER 

We  can't  get  a  man  from  town  sooner  than  to- 
morrow, and  time  is  everything.  I  suppose  Dubhn  is 
the  place  to  wire  to  ?  Not  that  I  am  disparaging 
you,"  he  added.  "I  feel  confident  you  have  done 
everything." 

Gallagher  smiled. 

"Oh.  I'm  not  taking  offence.  It's  only  human 
nature  to  think  what  you  do.  I'll  meet  any  one  you 
like  to  name.     But  he'll  say  the  same  as  me." 

"And  that  is?" 

"That's  he's  done  for."  Gallagher  lowered  his 
voice.  "  He  hasn't  the  stamina  to  pull  through,  even 
if  we  could  patch  him  up.  He's  been  undermining 
that  big  frame  of  his  for  the  last  ten  years.  No 
man  nowadays  can  sit  up  all  night  drinking  port 
without  paying  heavily  for  it.  Many  a  time,  driving 
home  from  a  late  call,  I've  seen  the  light  in  these 
windows  at  three  in  the  morning." 

Milbanke  pulled  out  his  watch. 

"But  these  Dublin  doctors,"  he  said.  "Tell  me 
their  names." 

Gallagher  pondered  a  moment. 

"Well,  there's  Dowden-Gregg  and  Merrick,"  he 
said.  "And  of  course  there's  Molyneaux.  Moly- 
neaux  is  a  magnificent  surgeon.  If  any  man  in 
Ireland  can  make  a  suggestion,  he  will.  But  of  course 
his  fee—" 

Milbanke  interrupted  sharply. 

"Molyneaux  let  it  be,"  he  said,  decisively.  "Wire 
for  him  when  you  get  back  to  Carrigmore.  Wire 
urgently.  The  expenses  will  be  my  affair.  What 
they  may  amount  to  is  of  no  consideration." 

A  look  of  involuntary  respect  crossed  Gallagher's 
face. 

"I  understand."  he  said.     "I'll  wire  at  once.    And 

98 


THE    GAMBLER 

you  can  comfort  yourself  that  you'll  have  the  host 
opinion  in  the  country." 

He  nodded  genially,  the  new  consideration  for  AIil- 
banke  tingeing  his  usually  careless  manner,  and  with 
an  inaudible  word  of  farewell  turned  on  his  heel. 

Once  alone,  Milbanke  went  in  search  of  Clodagh. 
He  suffered  no  small  trepidation  at  the  thought  of 
communicating  his  action  to  her.  and  he  bestowed 
much  silent  consideration  upon  the  manner  in  which 
he  should  couch  his  information.  Failing  to  find  her 
in  the  house,  he  wandered  out  into  the  grounds.  The 
rain  had  ceased  and  a  watery  gleam  of  sunshine  was 
falling  on  the  wet  gravel  of  the  drive.  Picking  his 
way  carefully,  he  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  yard; 
but  he  had  scarcely  reached  the  entrance  when 
Clodagh's  clear  voice  reached  him,  directing  Burke  as 
to  some  provisions  required  from  Muskeere. 

On  seeing  her  guest,  she  came  forward  at  once. 
Her  face  looked  brighter  and  happier  than  he  had 
seen  it  since  his  arrival.  Her  mercurial  nature  had 
responded  instantly  to  the  apparent  change  in 
Asshlin. 

"Oh,  isn't  it  lovely  that  he's  so  much  better?"  she 
cried.  "You  must  have  the  gift  of  healing;  it's 
like  as  if  you  had  set  a  charm." 

Milbanke  made  no  response. 

"Why  don't  you  say  something?"  she  asked, 
quickly.  "Don't  you  think  he's  better?  Doesn't 
the  doctor  think  he's  better?" 

Her  quick  mind  sprang  like  lightning  from  one 
conclusion  to  another. 

"Mr.  Milbanke,"  she  added,  "you're  keeping  some- 
thing back!  There's  something  vou  don't  like  to 
say!" 

Then  at  last  Milbanke  found  voice. 

99 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Indeed,  no,  Miss  Clodagh.  You  are  wrong — 
'  quite  wrong,  believe  me.  There  is  nothing  to  be 
alarmed  at — nothing.     It  is  only — " 

"Only  what?" 

"Now  don't  be  alarmed!  I  beg  you  not  to  be 
alarmed!"  The  sudden  whiteness  that  had  over- 
spread her  face  unnerved  him.  "It  is  only  that  I, 
as  a  Londoner,  am  a  little  doubtful  of  your  village 
doctor.  A  mere  prejudice,  I  know.  But  Gallagher 
is  broad-minded  and  willing  to  humor  me.  And 
he — I — that  is,  we  both  think  that  another  opinion 
will  do  no  harm.  It's  nothing  to  be  alarmed  at. 
Nothing,  believe  me.     A  mere  formality." 

But  Clodagh's  lips  had  paled.  She  stood  looking 
at  him  silently,  her  large,  questioning  eyes  reminding 
him  disconcertingly  of  Asshlin's. 

"Miss  Clodagh,"  he  said  again,  "don't  be  alarmed! 
Don't  be  alarmed!  It's  only  to  satisfy  an  old 
sceptic." 

"Oh  no,  it  isn't,"  she  said,  suddenly.  "Oh  no,  it 
isn't.  I  know;  I  know  quite  well.  It  means  that 
he's  going  to  die." 

Her  voice  caught.  Then,  with  a  swift  movement, 
she  turned  and  fled  out  of  the  yard,  leaving  Milbanke 
pained,  bewildered,  and  alarmed. 

The  afternoon  passed  in  weary,  monotonous  wait- 
ing. Half  an  hour  after  the  conversation  in  the  yard 
Clodagh  appeared  in  her  father's  room.  She  was 
pale  and  subdued  and  her  eyelids  looked  suspiciously 
red,  but  she  took  her  place  quietly  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed.  She  sat  very  still,  her  eyes  fixed  on  Asshlin's 
face,  apparently  heedless  of  both  the  nurse's  deft 
movements  and  Milbanke's  silent,  unobtrusive  pres- 
ence.    At  three  o'clock  the    acute   pains    that   had 

ICO 


THE    GAMBLER 

tormented  the  patient  at  intervals  ever  since  the 
accident  had  occurred  returned  upon  him  with  a 
violence  that  seemed  accentuated  by  the  respite  he 
had  obtained  during  the  morning.  For  an  hour  or 
more  he  writhed  and  groaned  in  unspeakable  agony, 
while  those  about  him  suffered  a  reflected  torment, 
and  chafed  impotently  at  the  distance  that  cut  off 
Carrigmore  and  the  possibility  of  any  fresh  medical 
relief.  The  nurse  was  unceasingly  vigilant ;  but  the 
mild  and  cautious  remedies  ordered  by  Gallagher 
were  powerless  to  soothe  the  violent  pain.  At  last 
nature  mercifully  intervened  and  the  exhausted 
sufferer  fell  into  a  sleep  that  lasted  for  several  hours. 

At  seven  o'clock  there  was  a  stir  of  excitement 
through  the  house  as  the  whisper  passed  from  one  to 
another  that  the  Dublin  surgeon  had  arrived.  When 
the  news  reached  the  sick  -  room  Milbanke  drew  a 
breath  of  intense  relief;  but  Clodagh's  pale  face  went 
a  shade  whiter. 

The  great  man  arrived,  attended  by  Gallagher,  and 
was  shown  directly  to  his  patient's  room.  There 
was  a  confused  moment  of  introduction;  then  Mil- 
banke and  Clodagh  slipped  quietly  into  the  passage, 
leaving  the  doctors  and  nurse  to  their  work. 

During  a  full  hour  of  indescribable  suspense 
Molyneaux  made  his  examination.  Then,  without 
a  word,  he  and  Gallagher  emerged  from  the  room  and 
descended  solemnly  to  the  dining-room. 

"\yhile  this  final  conference  lasted  Clodagh — who 
had  returned  to  her  vigil  immediately  the  doctors  had 
left  the  sick-room — sat  silent  and  motionless  beside 
the  bed;  outside  in  the  corridor  Mrs.  Asshlin  wan- 
dered to  and  fro,  weakly  tearful  and  agitated,  while 
Nance  stood  beside  her  father's  door,  afraid  to  enter 
and  yet  reluctant  to  remain  outside.     Down-stairs  in 

lOI 


THE    GAMBLER 

the  hall  Milbanke  paced  up  and  down  in  nervous 
perturbation,  awaiting  his  summons  to  the  conclave. 

At  last,  after  an  interval  of  unbearable  length,  the 
door  opened  and  Gallagher  looked  otit. 

"Mr.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  "Dr.  Molyneaux  would 
like  to  see  you." 

With  a  little  start  of  agitation  Milbanke  went 
forward  at  once. 

In  the  dining-room  a  great  peat  fire  was  burning  as 
usual,  lighting  up  the  faces  of  Asshlin's  ancestors,  but 
the  candles  in  the  silver  sconces  were  unlighted  and 
the  window-curtains  had  not  been  drawn.  In  the 
dull  light  from  the  three  long  windows  the  large, 
placid  face  of  Molyneaux  looked  preternaturally  long 
and  solemn.      Milbanke  felt  his  heart  sink. 

In  formal  silence  the  great  man  rose  and  motioned 
him  forward,  and  the  three  sat  down  at  the  centre  table. 

"Mr.  Milbanke,"  he  began,  in  slow  and  unctuous 
tones,  "I  suppose  you  would  like  me  to  come  to  the 
point  with  as  little  delay  as  possible  ?  Professional 
details  will  not  interest  you." 

Milbanke  nodded  mechanically. 

Molyneaux  hesitated,  studying  his  well-kept  hands ; 
then  he  looked  up  with  the  decorous  reserve  proper  to 
the  occasion. 

"I  regret  to  inform  you,  Mr.  Milbanke."  he  said, 
softly,  "that  my  visit  is  of  little — I  might  say  of  no — 
avail.  Dr.— er- — Gallagher's  diagnosis  of  the  case  is 
satisfactory  —  perfectly  satisfactory.  Beyond  miti- 
gating his  sufferings,  I  fear  we  can  do  nothing  for  our 
poor  friend." 

"Nothing?"  Milbanke  felt  a  sudden  dryness  in 
his  throat. 

Molyneaux  shook  his  head  with  becoming  gravity. 

"Nothing,  Mr.  Milbanke.     The  injuries  to  the  ribs, 

102 


THE     GAMBLER 

arm,  and  lup  wc  might  have  coped  with,  but  the  seat 
of  the  trouble  lies  deeper.     The  internal — " 

But  Milbanke  held  up  his  hand. 

"I  beg  you  to  give  me  no  details."  he  said,  weakl3^ 
"This — this  is  a  great  shock  to  me." 

He  covered  his  face  witli  liis  hand  and  sat  silent  for 
a  few  seconds. 

Molyneaux  tapped  lightly  upon  the  table  with  his 
finger-tips. 

"  It  was  merely  that  your  mind  might  be  fully 
satisfied,  Mr.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  a  trifle  pompouslv. 

Milbanke  started. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said.  "I  understand — I  fully 
understand.  It  is  only  the  thought  of  what  lies  be- 
fore us— the  thought  of  his  children's  grief — " 

Molyneaux  made  a  gracious  gesture  of  compre- 
hension 

"Ah,  yes,"  he  murmured.  "Very  distressing!  Most 
distressing!" 

He  looked  vaguely  round  the  room ;  and  Gallagher, 
as  if  anticipating  his  thought,  pulled  out  his  watch. 

Milbanke  rose  quickly. 

"I  thank  you  very  much,  Dr.  Molyneaux,"  he  said, 
"for  your  —  your  valuable  opinion.  I  think  Miss 
Asshlin  wishes  to  know  if  your  train  will  permit  vou 
to  partake  of  some  dinner  before  you  leave  us." 

Molyneaux  smiled  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has 
put  an  unpleasant  duty  aside. 

"Ah,  thank  you,"  he  said,  suavely.  "Thank  you. 
If  Dr.  —  Gallagher  gives  me  permission  I  shall  be 
charmed.  He  understands  your  local  time  -  tables, 
and  has  promised  that  I  shall  catch  the  night  train 
to  Dublin." 

He  smiled  again  and  glanced  genially  round  the 
firelit  room. 

103 


THE    GAMBLER 

"  What  interesting  family  portraits  our  poor  friend 
possesses!"  he  added,  with  pleasant  affability. 

But  Milbanke  did  not  seem  to  hear. 

"If  you  will  excuse  me  for  a  moment,"  he  said, 
hastily,  "  I  will  see  that  you  are  caused  no  unnecessary 
delay.  You  can  understand  that  we — that  we  are  a 
somewhat  demoralized  household."  His  voice  was 
agitated,  his  step  uneven,  as  he  crossed  the  room  and 
passed  into  the  hall. 

Molyneaux  followed  him  with  a  conventional  glance 
of  sympathy ;  then  his  eyes  turned  again  to  the  pict- 
ures with  the  gratified  glance  of  a  dilettante. 

"Do  you  happen  to  know  if  this  is  a  Reynolds?" 
he  said  to  Gallagher,  rising  and  crossing  the  room. 


XII 

T(.)  the  last  day  of  his  Hfe,  that  evening  with  its 
horde  of  harassing  and  unfamihar  sensations 
remained  stamped  upon  Milbanke's  mind ;  and  not 
least  among  the  unpleasant  recollections  was  the 
visit  of  Molyneaux  and  the  dinner  at  which  he 
himself  unwillingly  played  host. 

It  may  have  been  that  his  usually  placid  suscepti- 
bilities had  undergone  a  strain  that  rendered  him 
oversensitive;  but  whatever  the  cause,  the  atmos- 
phere diffused  by  the  great  man  jarred  upon  him.  In 
his  eyes  it  seemed  little  short  of  callous  that  one  who 
had  just  passed  sentence  of  death  upon  his  patient 
could  so  far  remain  unmoved  as  to  partake  with 
relish  of  the  dinner  set  before  him,  and  comment  with 
affable  appreciation  upon  the  quality  of  the  patient's 
wines. 

Milbanke  spoke  little  during  the  course  of  that 
meal.  Try  as  he  might  to  enact  the  part  intrusted 
to  him,  his  thoughts  persistently  wandered  to  the 
room  up-stairs  with  its  doomed  sufferer  and  its 
anxious  watchers,  as  yet  mercifully  ignorant  of  the 
^  erdict  that  had  been  pronounced.  But  if  the  host 
was  silent,  the  guests  made  conversation.  Gallagher 
was  assiduous  in  his  attentions  to  the  man  who,  in 
his  eyes,  stood  lor  the  attainment  nf  all  ambition; 
and  Molyneaux — under  the  unlooked-for  stimulus  of 
good,  if   homely,  food,  and  wines   that  even    as  an 


THE    GAMBLER 

epicure  he  admitted  to  be  remarkable — was  graciously 
pleased  to  accept  the  homage  of  his  humble  colleague, 
and  to  display  a  suave  glimpse  of  the  polished  wit  for 
which  he  was  noted  in  society. 

His  expressions  of  regret  were  perfectly  genuine 
when  at  last  the  sound  of  wheels  on  the  gravel  of  the 
drive  broke  in  upon  his  discourse,  and  Gallagher 
'deprecatingly  drew  out  his  watch. 

"The  way  of  the  world,  Mr.  Milbanke,"  he  mur- 
mured as  he  rose.  "Our  pleasantest  acquaintances 
end  the  soonest.  I  must  wish  you  good-bye — with 
many  thanks  for  your  delightful  hospitality.  So  far 
as  our  poor  friend  is  concerned,"  he  added,  in  a 
correctly  altered  tone,  "Dr.  Gallagher  may  be  relied 
upon  to  do  everything.  In  a  case  like  this,  where 
physical  pain  is  recurrent  and  violent,  we  can  only 
have  recourse  to  narcotics.  We  have  already  allayed 
the  suffering  consequent  on  my  examination  and  you 
may  rely  upon  some  hours  of  calm;  for  any  subse- 
quent contingency  Dr.  Gallagher  has  my  instructions. 
Of  course,  if  you  wish  me  to  have  one  more  glimpse 
at  him  before  I  go — " 

But  Milbanke,  who  had  also  risen,  held  out  his 
hand  mechanically. 

"Oh  no!"  he  said,  quietly.  "No,  thank  you.  I 
don't  think  we  will  trouble  you  any  further.  It  has 
been  a  great  satisfaction  to  have  obtained  your — 
your  opinion." 

Molyneaux  waved  his  hand  magnanimously. 

"Do  not  mention  it,"  he  murmured.  "My  regret 
is  deep  that  I  have  been  of  so  little  avail.  Good-bye 
again,  Mr.  Milbanke.  It  has  been  an  honor  as  well 
as  a  pleasure  to  meet  you." 

He  smiled  blandly  and  added  the  last  remark  as 
Gallagher  solicitously  helped   him  into  his  fur-lined 

io6 


THE    GAMBLER 

travelling-coat.     Then,  still  suavely  genial,  he  passed 
out  of  the  dining-room  towards  the  hall-door. 

Gallagher  hurried  after  him,  but  in  passing  Mil- 
banke  he  paused. 

"I'll  be  back  in  an  hour,  Mr.  Milbanke,"  he  said. 
"I'm  just  going  as  far  as  Carrigmore  with  Dr.  Moly- 
neaux  to  get  an  additional  supply  of  morphia." 

Milbanke  nodded  silently  and  in  his  turn  stepped 
into  the  hall. 

When  the  two  men  had  entered  the  waiting  vehicle ; 
when  Molyneaux  had  waved  a  courtly  farewell  and 
the  coachman  had  gathered  u])  the  reins,  he  turned 
and  slowly  began  to  mount  the  stairs. 

Instantly  his  foot  touched  the  landing,  Mrs. 
Asshlin  darted  from  the  shadowy  corridor. 

"What  news?"  she  asked,  agitatedly.  "Oh,  Mr. 
Milbanke,  what  news?  The  suspense  has  been 
dreadful." 

Her  voice  trembled.  Tears  came  very  easily  to 
Mrs.  Asshlin,  and  her  habitual  attitude  of  mourning 
had  heretofore  irritated  Milbanke.  But  now  her  thin 
face  and  faded  black  garments  came  as  a  curiously 
welcome  contrast  to  the  bland  affluence,  the  genial, 
complacent  superiority  of  Molyneaux.  He  turned  to 
her  with  a  feeling  of  warmth. 

"Forgive  my  delay,  Mrs.  Asshlin!"  he  said,  gently. 
"One  is  never  in  a  hurry  to  impart  bad  news.  Dr. 
Molyneaux  holds  out  no  hope — not  a  shadow  of  hope." 

There  was  a  pause,  then  Mrs.  Asshlin  made  a 
tragic  gesture. 

"Oh,  the  children!"  she  murmured.  "The  poor, 
poor  children!     What  will  become  of  them?" 

"The  children  will  be  provided  for,"  Milbanke 
said,  hastilv.  Then,  without  giving  her  time  for  ques- 
tion or  astonishment,  he  went  on  again. 

107 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Don't  say  anything  of  this  to  Clodagh,"  he  en- 
joined.    "She  must  have  these  last  hours  in  peace." 

"Certainly!  Certainly!  Poor  Denis!  Poor  Denis! 
I  always  said  he  would  have  an  unfortunate  end. 
But  go  in  and  see  him,  Mr.  Milbanke;  Clodagh  is  in 
the  room." 

Milbanke  silently  acquiesced  and  moved  slowly 
down  the  corridor. 

At  the  door  of  her  father's  room  he  found  Nance 
still  patiently  watchful.  He  paused,  arrested  by 
his  new  sense  of  obligation,  and  looked  down  into 
the  upturned,  wistful  little  face. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  Nance?"  he  asked, 
kindly. 

She  made  a  valiant  attempt  to  conjure  up  her 
pretty,  winning  smile,  but  her  lips  began  to  tremble. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  shyly  and  softly;  then 
in  a  sudden  burst  of  confidence  she  stepped  close  to 
him, 

"Clo  doesn't  like  me  to  go  in,"  she  murmured. 
"She  thinks  it  makes  me  sad  to  see  father;  and  I 
don't  know  where  to  go.  I'd  be  in  Hannah's  way  in 
the  kitchen,  and  I  don't  like  being  with  Aunt  Fan,  and 
— and  I'm  frightened  to  be  by  myself.  There's  a 
horrid  sort  of  feeling  in  the  house." 

Her  dark-blue  eyes  searched  Milbanke's  face  appeal- 
ingly ;  and  with  a  sensation  of  pity  and  protection  he 
stooped  and  took  one  of  her  cold,  limp  hands  in  his. 

"You  may  come  in,"  he  said,  gently.  "It  is  very 
lonely  out  here.  I  think  we  can  make  Clodagh 
understand." 

Without  hesitation  her  fingers  closed  round  his  in  a 
movement  of  confidence  and  gratitude,  and  together 
they  passed  into  the  room  where  Asshlin  lay  peace- 
fully under  the  influence  of  the  narcotic  administered 

io8 


THE     GAMBLER 

by  Molyneaux.  By  Gallagher's  orders  the  nurse — 
who  had  been  deprived  of  her  necessary  rest  in  the 
morning  —  had  retired  to  her  room  again  in  prep- 
aration for  the  night,  and  only  Clodagh  was  in  at- 
tendance. Having  quietly  closed  the  door,  Milbanke 
halted  hesitatingly,  expecting  a  fiood  of  questions. 
But  to  his  intense  surprise  she  did  not  even  glance  in 
his  direction.  She  sat  motionless  and  pale,  her  eyes 
on  her  father's  face,  her  attitude  stiff  and  almost 
defiant.  He  wondered  for  a  moment  whether,  by 
the  power  of  instinct,  she  had  divined  Molyneaux's 
verdict,  or  whether,  through  some  source  unknown  to 
him,  the  news  of  it  had  already  reached  her.  With  a 
sense  of  trepidation,  he  tightened  his  fingers  round 
Nance's  small  hand  and  drew  her  silently  into  a 
corner  of  the  room. 

For  more  than  an  hour  the  three  watchers  sat 
regarding  their  patient.  No  one  attempted  to  speak 
— no  one  appeared  to  have  anything  to  say.  Once 
or  twice  Mrs.  Asshlin  flitted  agitatedly  in  and  out 
of  the  room,  but  none  of  them  took  heed  of  her 
presence.  Occasionally  a  clock  struck  in  the  silent 
house  or  a  cinder  fell  from  the  fire,  causing  them  all 
to  start  nervously.  But  except  for  these  interrup- 
tions the  quiet  was  preternatural. 

It  was  with  a  throb  of  relief  at  his  heart  that 
Milbanke  at  last  caught  the  sound  of  Gallagher's 
horse  trotting  up  the  avenue,  and  knew  by  the 
shutting  of  the  hall-door  that  the  doctor  had  entered 
the  house. 

He  walked  into  the  sick-room  a  few  minutes  later, 
and,  with  a  casual  nod  to  all  present,  moved  at  once 
to  the  bed. 

Bending  over  Asshlin,  he  felt  his  pulse,  then  glanced 
significantly  at  Milbanke,  who  had  risen  on  his  entrance. 

109 


THE    GAMBLER 

"I  think  we  must  inject  a  stimulant,"  he  said. 
"The  pulse  is  a  little  weak." 

With  a  faint  sound  of  consternation  Clodagh 
stood  up. 

"Oh,  he's  not  worse?"  she  said.  "Dr.  Gallagher, 
he's  not  worse?" 

Gallagher  looked  at  her  and  his  expression  changed. 
The  distress  of  a  pretty  girl  is  always  difficult  to  resist. 

"No,  Miss  Asshlin,"  he  said,  kindly.  "No.  You 
see,  he  has  gone  through  a  lot.  We  must  expect  him 
to  be  weak." 

Clodagh  looked  relieved,  though  the  alarm  still 
lingered  in  her  eyes. 

"Of  course,"  she  said.  "Yes,  of  course.  Is  there 
anything  I  can  do?" 

Gallagher  glanced  at  her  again. 

"Well,"  he  said,  quietly,  "perhaps  you  will  call  the 
nurse  for  me  ?  There's  no  real  need  for  her,  but  it  is 
just  as  well  we  should  have  her  on  the  spot." 

Again  Clodagh's  eyes  darkened  with  apprehension, 
but  she  made  no  remark.  Signalling  to  Nance  to  fol- 
low her,  she  left  the  room. 

As  the  two  girls  disappeared,  Gallagher  bent  again 
over  Asshlin,  making  another  rapid  examination; 
then  once  more  he  glanced  up  at  Milbanke. 

"He  may  not  last  the  night,"  he  said,  below  his 
breath.  "Molyneaux  expected  that  it  wouldn't  be  a 
long  business,  but  we  didn't  look  for  the  change  so 
soon  as  this." 

Milbanke  did  not  alter  his  position. 

"You'll  stay  on,  of  course,"  he  said,  mechanically. 

"Yes.     Oh  yes.  I'll  stay  on." 

As  he  said  the  last  word  Clodagh  reappeared. 

"The  nurse  will  be  here  in  a  minute,"  she  said,  in  a 
steady  voice. 

I  lO 


THE    GAMBLER 

The  unrelaxed,  monotonous  vigil  lasted  until  two 
o'clock;  then,  as  Asshlin  showed  a  disposition  to  rally, 
the  doctor  asserted  his  authority  and  dismissed  Mrs. 
Asshlin,  Nance,  and  Milbanke  for  a  much  -  needed 
rest — Clodagh  alone  refusing  to  leave  the  room. 

Though  he  would  not  have  admitted  it,  the  com- 
mand came  as  a  boon  to  Milbanke.  His  long  and 
arduous  journey,  coupled  with  the  strain  and  excite- 
ment of  the  day  and  evening,  had  culminated  in 
intense  weariness;  and  when  Gallagher's  order  came 
it  would  have  been  a  superhuman  effort  to  offer  any 
I>rotest. 

Reaching  his  room,  he  took  off  his  boots,  and, 
partially  undressing,  threw  himself  upon  his  bed. 

How  many  hours  he  slept  the  deep  sleep  of  utter 
exhaustion  he  did  not  know.  His  first  effort  at 
awaking  consciousness  was  a  thrill  of  nervous  fright 
that  made  him  sit  up  in  bed,  aware  with  a  sudden 
shock  that  some  one  was  knockng  imperativelv  on 
his  door  and  calling  him  by  name  in  low,  agitated 
tones. 

"Mr.  Milbanke!  Mr.  Milbanke!  Wake,  please! 
Quick!     Mr.  Milbanke!" 

He  stared  into  the  darkness  for  an  instant  in 
dazed  apprehension ;  then  he  sHd  out  of  bed,  fumbling 
blindly  for  his  dressing-gown. 

"Coming!"  he  called.     "Coming!" 

Having  found  the  garment  he  crossed  the  room 
stumblingly,  thrusting  his  arms  into  the  sleeves  as  he 
went. 

Opening  the  door,  he  realized  the  situation  with  a 
sick  sinking  of  the  heart.  Clodagh  stood  in  the 
corridor  with  a  blanched  face,  holding  a  candle  in  her 
shaking  hand. 

"  Oh,  come,  please!"  she  exclaimed.     "  Come  quick!" 


1 1 1 


THE    GAMBLER 

Without  a  word  he  stepped  forward,  and  the  two 
hvirried  down  the  passage. 

In  the  sick-room  the  fire  was  glowing  and  addi- 
tional candles  had  been  lighted.  For  a  second 
Milbanke  paused  at  the  door;  then  as  his  eyes  grew 
accustomed  to  the  access  of  light,  the  scene  became 
clear  to  him.  On  the  bed  lay  Asshlin,  his  head  partly 
propped  up  by  pillows,  his  eyes  wide,  his  breath 
coming  in  slow,  difficult  gasps;  Gallagher  was  mov- 
ing about  the  room  with  more  quickness  and  deft- 
ness than  the  Englishman  could  have  believed  pos- 
sible; Mrs.  Asshlin,  unnerved,  and  yet  fascinated, 
leaned  upon  the  end  of  the  bed ;  while  Nance — cry- 
ing silently — followed  the  nurse  to  and  fro  in  dazed, 
half- comprehending  fear;  and  Hannah,  the  house- 
hold factotum,  crouched  behind  the  door,  weeping 
and  murmuring  inarticulate  prayers. 

The  picture  turned  Milbanke  cold.  With  an  in- 
stinctive gesture  he  paused  with  the  intention  of 
shielding  it  from  Clodagh's  sight.  But  at  the  very 
moment  that  he  turned  towards  her  a  convulsion 
shook  the  dying  man.  He  suddenly  lifted  himself 
in  bed,  his  eyes  staring  wildly;  then,  as  Gallagher 
rushed  forward,  a  hoarse  sound  escaped  him,  his  head 
fell  forward,  and  his  body  collapsed  in  the  doctor's 
arms. 

There  was  a  breathless,  appalled  silence — a  silence 
that  seemed  to  extend  over  years.  At  last  Gallagher 
looked  up. 

"It's  all  over,"  he  said,  in  a  hushed  voice. 

For  a  minute  no  one  spoke,  no  one  moved.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  whole  room  was  petrified.  Then 
Gallagher  quietly  laid  the  body  back  upon  the  pillows, 
and  as  though  the  action  broke  the  spell,  Clodagh 
gave  a  sudden  sharp  cry  and  ran  forward  to  the  bed, 

112 


XIII 

THE  three  days  that  followed  Asshlin's  death  re- 
solved themselves  into  so  many  hours  of  gloom 
and  confusion  that  found  their  culmination  in  the 
funeral   ceremony. 

To  Irishmen  of  every  class  a  funeral  is  invested  with 
an  almost  symbolic  importance,  and  a  solemn  con- 
sideration is  bestowed  upon  its  most  minute  details. 
But  Milbanke,  deeply  imbued  with  the  horror  and 
suddenness  of  the  whole  disaster,  was  filled  with  a 
growing  astonishment  at  the  numberless  prelimina- 
ries— the  amount  of  precedence  and  prestige  requiring 
consideration  before  one  poor  human  body  can  be 
hidden  away.  And  he  rose  dutifullv  to  the  occasion 
and  proved  himself  unfailingly  patient  and  con- 
scientious in  every  emergency,  from  the  first  repug- 
nant interview  with  the  undertaker  to  the  woful 
breakfast,  partaken  of  in  the  early  hours  of  the 
funeral  morning,  with  the  curtains  drawn  across 
the  dining-room  windows  and  the  candles  in  the 
massive  silver  sconces  shedding  an  imnatural  light 
upon  the  table  laden  with  eatables. 

The  guests  who  partook  of  this  meal  were  men  of 
varied  and  interesting  types;  but  whatex'er  their 
characteristic  differences  it  was  remarkable  that  the 
same  air  of  responsibility  and  solemnity  inspired 
them  all.  It  did  not  matter  that  many  of  them  had 
been  personal  enemies  of  the  dead  man;  that  many, 
8  1 13 


THE    GAMBLER 

with  that  jealous  distrust  of  unconventionality  that 
reigns  in  Ireland,  had  markedly  drawn  away  from 
him  in  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life ;  death  had  oblit- 
erated everything.  Asshlin's  eccentricities,  his  law- 
lessness, his  contempt  for  the  little  world  in  which  he 
lived  were  all  forgotten.  He  was  one  of  themselves — 
deserving,  in  death  at  least,  the  same  consideration 
that  the  county  had  bestowed  upon  his  father,  his 
grandfather,  and  those  who  had  gone  before  them. 

The  faces  of  these  men  were  unfamiliar  to  Mil- 
banke;  though  each  on  entering  the  dining-room 
shook  him  cordially  and  sympathetically  by  the  hand. 
The  meal  was  partaken  of  almost  in  silence;  and  it 
was  with  obvious  relief  that,  one  after  another,  the 
members  of  the  party  rose  from  table  and  passed 
into  the  darkened  hall  and  from  thence  to  the  sweep 
of  gravelled  drive  that  fronted  the  house,  where  the 
less  privileged  of  those  who  had  come  to  do  Asshlin 
honor  lounged  singly  or  in  groups. 

The  funeral  was  timed  to  start  at  nine;  but  the 
concourse  of  mourners  —  well  accustomed  to  the 
delays  inevitable  on  such  an  occasion  —  evinced  no 
sign  of  impatience  when  half-past  nine  and  then  ten 
drew  on  an'I  no  move  had  yet  been  made. 

But  all  things  come  to  those  who  understand  the 
art  of  patience.  At  a  quarter-past  ten  a  thrill  gal- 
vanized the  lethargic  crowd,  and  with  the  knowledge 
that  the  great  moment  for  which  they  waited  had 
at  last  arrived,  the  men  began  to  jostle  one  another 
and  push  forward  towards  the  house,  while  all  hats 
were  respectfully  removed. 

A  faint  murmur  of  admiration  and  awe  went  up 
from  the  gathering  as  the  great,  brass-bound  coffin 
was  borne  solemnly  through  the  door  and  laid  upon 
the    open    bier.     In    silence    Milbanke    and    young 

114 


THE    GAMBLER 

Laurence  Asshlin  took  their  places  as  chief  mourners, 
and  with  the  inevitable  confusion  and  uncertainty 
of  such  a  moment,  the  crowd  of  men  and  vehicles 
formed  up  behind  them;  the  horses  under  the  bier 
moved  slowly  forward,  and  the  body  of  Denis  Asshlin 
passed  for  the  last  time  down  the  avenue  and  through 
the  gates  of  Orristown. 

The  funeral  over,  Milbanke  walked  Ijack  from 
Carrigmore  alone.  The  servants  who  had  followed 
their  master  to  his  resting-place  in  the  old  graveyard 
had  remained  in  the  village  to  enjoy  the  importance 
that  the  occasion  lent  them;  young  Asshlin  had  dis- 
appeared at  the  conclusion  of  the  burial  service ;  while 
the  daughters  and  sister-in-law  of  the  dead  man — in 
accordance  with  the  custom  of  the  country — had 
remained  secluded  in  their  own  rooms  at  Orristown, 
appearing  neither  at  the  breakfast  nor  the  funeral. 

In  a  house  of  death  the  hours  that  succeed  the 
burial  are,  if  possible,  even  more  melancholy  than 
those  that  precede  it.  The  sensations  of  awe  and 
responsibility  have  been  dispersed,  but  as  yet  it  is 
impossible  to  resume  the  commonplace  routine  of  life. 
As  Milbanke  passed  through  the  gateway  and  walked 
up  the  drive,  ploughed  into  new  furrows  by  the  long 
procession  of  cars  that  had  followed  the  coffin,  he  was 
deeply  sensitive  to  this  impression;  and  it  fell  upon 
him  afresh  with  a  chill  of  desolation  as  he  entered 
the  door,  still  standing  open,  and  moved  slowly  across 
the  deserted  hall. 

In  the  dining-room  the  curtains  had  been  drawn 
back  and  the  candles  extinguished,  but  the  day- 
light seemed  to  fall  tardily  and  unnaturally  upon  the 
room  after  its  three  days'  exclusion.  He  stood  for  a 
moment  looking  at  the  debris  of  the  breakfast  that 

115 


THE    GAMBLER 

had  not  yet  been  removed,  at  the  disarray  of  the 
chairs  that  had  been  hurriedly  vacated;  then,  with 
a  fresh  and  poignant  sense  of  loss  and  loneliness,  he 
turned  hastily  and  walked  out  of  the  room. 

In  the  hall  he  attempted  to  pause  afresh;  but 
the  sound  of  muffled  sobbing  from  the  upper  portion 
of  the  house  sent  him  incontinently  forth  into  the 
open.  With  an  overwhelming  desire  for  human 
fellowship — for  any  companionship  in  this  abode  of 
desolation  —  he  passed  without  consideration  of  his 
dignity  round  the  corner  of  the  house  in  the  direction 
of  the  stable-yard. 

He  walked  calmly,  but  there  was  a  pucker  of 
anxiety  on  his  usually  placid  brow — an  expression  of 
concern,  apart  from  actual  sorrow,  in  his  tightly  set 
lips.  To  the  most  casual  observer  it  would  have  been 
obvious  that  something  weighed  upon  his  mind. 

Still  moving  with  his  habitual  precision  he  entered 
the  yard  by  the  arched  gateway,  picking  his  way  be- 
tween the  scattered  array  of  rubbish,  food,  and  im- 
plements that  encumbered  the  ground. 

When  he  appeared  a  dozen  rough  or  glossy  heads 
were  thrust  out  of  kennels  or  out-houses,  as  the  dogs 
accorded  him  a  noisy  welcome;  but  paying  only 
partial  heed  to  their  demonstrations,  he  passed  on  to 
the  vast  coach-house,  with  the  vague  hope  that  some 
laborer  connected  with  the  farm  or  stables  might 
possibly  have  been  left  behind  in  the  general  exodus. 
But  here  again  he  was  doomed  to  disappointment. 
The  coach-house  with  its  walls  festooned  with  rotting 
harness,  its  ghostly  row  of  cumbersome,  antiquated 
vehicles,  was  as  empty  of  human  presence  as  the 
yard  itself. 

Conscious  of  the  isolation  that  hung  over  the  place, 
disproportionately  aware  of  his  own  aimlessness,  he 

ii6 


THE     GAMBLER 

stood  uncertain  in  what  direction  to  turn.  For  the 
moment  tlie  household  had  no  need  of  him;  there 
were  no  legal  formalities  to  succeed  the  funeral, 
Asshlin  having  left  no  will ;  and  of  personal  duties  he 
had  none  to  claim  his  attention. 

He  stood  by  the  coach  -  house  door  wofully  un- 
decided as  to  his  next  move,  when  all  at  once  relief 
came  to  him  from  the  most  unexpected  quarter  of  the 
out-buildings.  One  of  the  dairy  windows  was  oi)ened 
sharply,  and  a  head  was  thrust  through  the  aperture. 

"  Wisha,  what  is  it  you're  doin'  there,  sir?"  a  voice 
demanded,  kindly.  "Sure  that  ould  yard  is  no  lit 
place  for  you." 

Turning  hastily,  Milbanke  saw  the  broad,  plain 
face  of  Hannah,  her  small  eyes  red,  her  rough  cheeks 
stained  with  weeping. 

"Why,  Hannah!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  are  you 
doing  here?     I  thought  you  were  at  the  funeral!" 

Hannah  passed  the  back  of  her  hand  across  her  eyes. 

"Wisha,  what  would  I  be  doin'  at  it?"  she  de- 
manded, huskily.  "Sure  I  don't  know  what  they  do 
be  seein'  in  funerals  at  all." 

Milbanke  glanced  up  with  interest,  recognizing  the 
originality  of  the  remark. 

"Why,  you  and  I  are  of  the  same  opinion,"  he  said. 
"The  Celtic  delight  in  the  obsequies  of  a  friend  has 
been  puzzling  me  for  the  last  three  days — "  Then  he 
paused  suddenly,  conscious  of  Hannah's  fixed  regard. 
"That  is" — he  substituted  quickly — "that  is,  I  have 
been  wondering,  like  you,  what  they  see  in  it." 

Hannah's  small,  observant  eyes  did  not  waver  in 
their  scrutiny. 

"You've  been  wonderin'  about  somethin',  sure 
enough!"  she  said.  "I  seen  it  myself  every  time  I'd 
be  carryin'  in  the  dinner,  or  doin'  a  turn  for  the  poor 

117 


THE    GAMBLER 

corpse.  God  be  good  to  him  this  holy  and  blessed 
day!"  Again  she  wiped  her  eyes.  "But  'tisn't  won- 
derin'  alone  that's  at  you,"  she  added,  more  briskly. 
" 'Tis  some  other  thing  that's  lyin'  heavy  on  your 
mind.     I  seen  it  meself  at  every  hand's  turn." 

Milbanke  started.  This  sympathetic  onslaught  was 
as  disconcerting  as  it  was  unexpected. 

"I — I  won't  contradict  you,  Hannah,"  he  said, 
waveringly.     "  No  doubt  you  are  right." 

For  the  space  of  a  minute  Hannah  was  profoundly 
silent;  then  she  broached  the  subject  that  had  been 
filling  her  mind  for  a  day  and  a  half. 

"Wisha,  now,  is  it  thrue  what  they  do  be  tellin' 
me?"  she  asked,  softly  and  warily.  "That  you're 
goin'  to  be  father  and  mother  an'  all  to  thim  two  poor 
children  ?" 

Again  Milbanke  started  almost  guiltily;  then  the 
personal  anxiety  that  mingled  with  and  almost 
dominated  his  grief  for  Asshlin  rose  irrepressibly  in 
response  to  the  persuasive  tones,  the  kindly  human 
interest  and  curiosity. 

"Yes,  Hannah,"  he  said,  quickly.  "Yes,  it  is 
my  intention  to  try  and  fill  my  poor  friend's  place." 

The  tears  welled  suddenly  into  Hannah's  eyes,  and 
with  an  awkward  movement  she  wiped  her  rough 
hand  in  her  apron  and  held  it  out. 

"God  Almighty  will  give  it  back  to  you,  sir!" 
she  exclaimed,  with  impulsive  fervor. 

Strangely  touched  by  the  expression  of  under- 
standing and  appreciation,  he  responded  to  the  gesture 
and  took  her  hand. 

But  instantly  she  withdrew  it. 

"Don't  be  mindin'  an  ould  woman  like  me,  sir," 
she  said,  deprecatingly.  "'Twas  the  thought  of  the 
children    that    come   over   me.     I    couldn't   help   it. 

ii8 


THE    GAMBLER 

I  had  the  both  of  thim  in  me  arms  before  they  could 
cry.  Small  wonder  me  heart  would  be  in  thim! 
Many's  the  sad  day  I  put  over  me,  thinkin'  what 
would  become  of  thim,  wid  the  poor  masther  goin' 
to  the  bad.  God  forgive  me  for  say  in'  it!  And  sure 
now  'tis  all  settled  and  done  for — and  the  heavth  of 
it  ofif  of  our  minds.     Praise  be  to  God!" 

She  paused  to  dry  her  tears. 

"  And  what  would  you  be  thinkin'  to  do  wid  thim  ?" 
she  asked,  presently,  in  a  new  and  more  personal 
tone. 

Milbanke  did  not  answer  at  once.  His  eyes  strayed 
uneasily  from  one  object  in  the  yard  to  another,  while 
the  frown  of  perplexity  that  had  puckered  his  brow 
since  Asshlin's  death  reappeared  more  prominently 
than  before.  At  last,  with  a  certain  expression  of 
puzzled  resolution,  he  looked  up  and  met  Hannah's 
attentive  gaze. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  Hannah,"  he  said,  "that  is 
the  precise  question  I  have  been  asking  myself  ever 
since  your  poor  master  died." 

There  was  a  wait  of  some  seconds  while  his  listener 
digested  the  information;  then  she  nodded  her  head 
with  slow  impressiveness. 

"  I  seen  it  meself,"  she  said  again.  "  Sure,  I  seen  it 
as  plain  as  daylight.  'There's  somethin'  on  his 
mind,'  I  says  to  meself.  'An'  if  it  isn't  the  poor 
masther's  death,'  I  says,  'thin  it's  nothin'  more  nor 
less  than  the  natural  feelin's  of  a  single  gentleman 
that  finds  himself  wid  two  grown  daughters.'" 

It  was  characteristic  of  Milbanke  that  he  did  not 
smile.  He  recognized  only  one  fact  in  the  old 
servant's  words — the  fact  that  the  state  of  affairs  over 
which  he  had  been  worrying  in  lonely  perplexity  had 
suddenly  been  accurately,  if  roughly,  voiced  by  some 

119 


THE    GAMBLER 

one  else.  He  glanced  up  with  quick  relief  into  the 
round  red  face  framed  in  the  dairy  window. 

"Hannah,"  he  said,  honestly,  "your  surmise  was 
perfectly  correct." 

For  the  first  time  a  smile  broke  over  her  tear- 
stained  face. 

"  I  was  right,  thin  ?  'Tis  the  children  was  troublin' 
you?" 

A  sharp  gleam  of  inquiry  shot  from  her  eyes. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  simply. 

"An'  why,  now?"  Again  her  tone  changed,  the 
irrepressible  undercurrent  of  native  humor,  native 
inquisitiveness  and  familiarity  welling  out  uncon- 
sciously.    "Sure,  they're  good  children." 

"I  do  not  doubt  it.  I  do  not  doubt  it  for  one 
moment." 

"But  they're  troublin'  you  all  the  same?" 

"Well,  yes.     Yes,  I  confess  they  are  troubling  me." 

"Both  of  thim?"  she  asked,  innocently. 

He  hesitated. 

"Well,  no,"  he  replied,  artlessly.  "No,  not  both 
of  them." 

"Ah,  I  thought  that  same!"  Hannah  gave  a  nod 
of  complacent  understanding.  "Sure,  'twas  to  be 
tormentin'  men  she  was  brought  into  the  world  for. 
I  said  so  meself  the  first  day  I  took  her  into  me  arms." 

"But — but  I  haven't  said  anything.  How  do  you 
know  that  it  is — " 

"How  do  I  know  that  it's  Miss  Clodagh  that's 
botherin'  you?  Sure,  how  do  I  know  that  you're 
standin'  before  me  ?  Faith,  by  the  use  of  me  eyesight. 
Haven't  I  seen  you  lookin'  at  her  and  ponderin' — 
and  lookin'  at  her  ag'in  ?" 

Milbanke's  lips  tightened  and  he  drew  himself  up. 

"I  should  be  sorry  if  an}^  thought  I  have  bestowed 

120 


THE    GAMBLER 

on  your  younp  mistress—"  he  be.^^an,  coldly  ;  then  sud- 
denly the  intense  need  of  help  and  sympathetic  coun- 
sel overbalanced  dignity.  "  Hannah,"  he  said,  abrupt- 
ly, "I'm  in  a  terribly  awkward  position,  and  that  is 
the  simple  truth.  My  mind  is  quite  at  rest  about 
the  younger  girl.  She  is  a  child — and  will  ])e  a  child 
for  years.  A  good  school  is  all  she  needs.  But  with 
the  other  it's  difTerent — with  Clodagh  it's  different. 
Clodagh  is  no  longer  a  child." 

Hannah  remained  discreetly  silent. 

"H  I  had  a  sister,"  he  went  on,  "or  any  friend  to 
whom  I  could  intrust  her.      But  I  have  none." 

Again  Hannah  shook  her  head. 

"  Why,  thin,  that's  a  pity,"  she  murmured.  "  Sure, 
'tis  lonesome  for  a  gintleman  to  be  by  himself." 

"  It  is  a  pity — a  great  pity.  You  do  not  know  how 
it  is  weighing  upon  me.    Of  course,  there  is  her  aunt — " 

Hannah  made  an  exclamation  of  horror. 

"Is  it  Mrs.  Laurence?"  she  cried.  "Is  it  tie  her 
to  Mrs.  Laurence  you  would  ?  Sure,  you  may  as  well 
put  her  in  the  grave  and  be  done  wid  it." 

Milbanke's  harassed  face  grew  more  perplexed. 

"No,"  he  said,  hurriedly.  "  No;  I  understand  that 
that  arrangement  is  impossible.  I  was  merely  won- 
dering whether  there  is  any  other — any  more  distant 
relative  with  whom  she  might  be  happy — " 

He  looked  anxiously  into  her  broad,  shrewd  face. 

For  a  moment  the  small  eyes  met  his  seriously, 
then  involuntarily  they  twinkled. 

"Faith,  when  I  was  a  young  woman,  sir,"  she  said, 
slowly,  "men  wasn't  so  sat  on  findin'  relations  for  a 
girl  like  Miss  Clodagh — unless  maybe  'twas  a  relation 
of  their  own  makin'!" 

Milbanke  suddenly  looked  away. 

"  What — what  do  you  mean  ?"  he  asked,  confusedly. 

121 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Why,  that  'tisn't  aunts  and  cousins  that  a  girl  like 
Miss  Clodagh  wants,  but  a  good  husband." 

"A— a  husband?" 

"Why,  thin,  what  else?  Instid  of  throublin'  your- 
self and  frettin'  yourself  till  your  heart  is  scalded  out 
of  you,  why  don't  you  marry  her?  That's  what  Fve 
been  askin'  meself  ever  since  the  poor  masther  died. 
It's  out  now,  if  I'm  to  be  killed  for  it!" 

She  eyed  him  quizzically  and  half  defiantly. 

But  Milbanke  stood  stammering  and  confused,  his 
gaze  fixed  nervously  on  the  ground,  an  unaccustomed 
flush  on  his  worn  cheeks. 

"But — but,  Hannah,  I — I  am  an  old  man!" 

His  tone  was  deprecating  and  meant  to  be  ironic, 
but  unconsciously  it  had  an  undernote  of  question; 
unconsciously,  as  he  raised  his  eyes  to  his  mentor's 
face,  he  straightened  the  shoulders  that  age  and 
study  had  combined  to  bend. 

"I  am  an  old  man!"  he  said  again.  "Why — why, 
I  am  five  years  older  than  her  father — " 

Hannah  continued  to  search  his  face. 

"  An'  sure  what  harm  is  that  ?"  she  said.  "  Wasn't 
me  own  poor  man  as  ould  as  me  grandfather,  an' 
no  woman  ever  buried  a  finer  husband.  God  rest 
him!" 

Milbanke's  lack  of  humorous  imagination  stood 
him  in  good  stead. 

" But  she's  a  child,"  he  stammered.      "A  child—" 

For  answer  Hannah  leaned  out  of  the  window  until 
her  face  was  close  to  his. 

"Listen  here  to  me,"  she  said,  softly.  "Child  or 
no  child,  you  thought  about  marry  in'  her  before  ever 
I  said  it.  But  you'd  never  riz  the  courage  to  do  it. 
You're  not  like  the  Asshlins  that  would  tear  down 
the  walls  of  hell  if  they  wanted  to  be  gettin'  at  the 

122 


THE    GAMBLER 

divil;  you'd  like  somebody  to  take  him  be  the  hand 
and  draw  him  out  nice  and  aisy  for  you —  "There 
she  is  up  in  that  lonesome  house,  frettin'  her  heart 
an'  cryin'  her  eyes  out.  Why  can't  you  go  up  an' 
take  her  before  somebody  else  does?" 

As  she  came  to  the  last  words  her  rough  voice 
dropped.  Her  loyalty  to  her  dead  master,  her 
anxiety  to  see  his  child  in  a  place  of  safety,  poured 
from  her  in  crude  eloquence.  To  her  primitive  mind 
Milbanke  appeared  as  the  ideal  husband — a  man  of 
dependable  years,  of  wealth,  of  good  social  position; 
and  all  her  affections,  all  her  energies  yearned  to  make 
the  marriage.  She  could  not  have  framed  the  fear 
that  possessed  her  mind,  but  her  instinct,  her  acute 
native  intuition  warned  her  unanswerably  that  the 
daughter  of  Denis  Asshlin  would  need  protection — 
and  would  need  it  before  long.  With  an  impulsive 
gesture  she  stretched  out  her  hand,  and,  touching 
Milbanke's  shoulder,  pushed  him  gently  forward  into 
the  yard. 

"Go  on,  sir,"  she  urged,  sottly.  "Go  on  up  an' 
take  her  before  somebody  else  does!" 


XIV 

IT  may  be  surmised  without  fear  of  misconception 
that  never  during  the  smooth  course  of  his  un- 
eventful existence  had  Milbanke  been  so  rudely 
shaken  into  self-comprehension  as  by  Hannah's  un- 
looked-for onslaught.  Left  to  the  placid  guidance  of 
unaided  instinct,  it  is  almost  certain  that  he  would 
have  left  Orristown  whenever  the  hour  of  departure 
arrived,  innocently  unconscious  that  any  parting 
pangs  could  be  attributed  to  a  personal  cause.  It  is 
possible  that  with  the  passage  of  time  he  might  have 
acknowledged  that  somewhere  in  the  inner  recesses 
of  his  mind  there  was  a  shrine  where  one  face,  more 
changeful  and  alluring  than  any  other  he  had  known, 
reigned  in  solitary  state;  but  beyond  that  tardy 
acknowledgment  he  would  not  have  dared  to  venture. 
Later  still,  perhaps,  if  circumstances  had  compelled 
him  to  resign  his  guardianship  over  Clodagh  in  favor 
of  some  possible  husband,  it  is  within  the  bounds  of 
reason  to  conjecture  that  understanding  of  his  feelings 
might  have  come  to  him  when,  having  said  good-bye 
to  the  young  girl  just  crossing  the  threshold  of  life,  he 
returned  to  his  home,  newly  and  bitterly  alive  to  his 
age  and  loneliness.  But  now,  in  the  light  of  present 
events,  all  such  suppositions  had  become  valueless. 
As  if  by  some  powerful  outside  pressure,  his  eyes  had 
been  opened,  and  he  stood  dazed  and  elated  before 
the  new  road  that  opened  upon  his  vision. 

124 


THE    GAMBLER 

His  brain  felt  light  and  unsteady,  his  limbs  were 
imbued  with  a  sensation  of  unaccustomed  buoyancy 
as  he  turned,  impelled  by  Hannah's  words,  and 
moved  across  the  yard  towards  the  arched  gateway. 
A  half  -  admitted,  intoxicating  sense  of  imminent 
action  possessed  him;  and  as  he  walked  forward  it 
seemed  thkt  he  scarcely  felt  the  ground  beneath  his 
feet. 

Almost  without  volition  he  passed  from  the  stone- 
paved  court-yard  into  the  sweep  of  gravelled  pathway 
that  fronted  the  house.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
existence  he  was  conscious  of  being  borne  forward  on 
the  tide  of  his  emotions,  and  the  knowledge  had  an 
exhilarating,  unbalanced  daring  that  suggested  youth. 

As  though  he  feared  the  evaporation  of  his  mood, 
he  made  no  pause  on  gaining  the  pathway,  but  went 
straight  forward  towards  the  house  with  a  haste  and 
impetuosity  very  foreign  to  his  formal  nature.  On 
his  second  entry  into  the  hall  he  paid  no  heed  to  the 
chill  desolation  of  the  place,  but,  crossing  the  inter- 
vening space,  began  immediately  to  mount  the  stairs. 

Scarcely  had  he  reached  the  highest  step,  however, 
than  he  halted  incontinently.  For,  as  though  in 
direct  response  to  the  thoughts  that  were  filling  his 
mind,  a  door  on  the  corridor  opened  and  Clodagh  ap- 
peared upon  the  scene. 

Seeing  him,  she  too  paused,  and  in  the  moment  of 
mutual  hesitation  he  had  opportunitv  to  studv  her. 

In  her  new  black  dress,  she  looked  sHghter  and 
more  immature  than  he  had  expected;  and  the  pa- 
thetic effect  of  her  appearance  was  enhanced  by  the 
paleness  of  her  face  and  the  heavy  purpV  shadows 
that  sleeplessness  and  tears  had  traced  below  her  eyes. 
As  the  impression  obtruded  itself  upon  him,  his  own 
nervous  excitement  dro])ped  from  him  suddenly. 

125 


THE     GAMBLER 

"My  poor  child!"  he  said,  involuntarily. 

At  the  words  and  the  tone  she  turned  to  him  im- 
pulsively. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Milbanke — "  she  began. 

Then  her  loneliness,  her  sense  of  bereavement  and 
desolation  inundated  her  mind.  With  a  short  sob 
she  moved  abruptly  away,  and,  turning  lier  face  to 
the  wall,  broke  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

The  action  was  the  action  of  a  child,  and  without 
hesitation  Milbanke  responded  to  it.  Stepping  across 
the  corridor  he  put  his  arm  about  her  shoulder  and 
drew  her  gently  towards  the  stairs. 

"Come!"  he  said,  soothingly.  "Come!  The  house 
is  quite  quiet,  and  you  are  badly  in  want  of  a  little 
daylight  and  fresh  air.  Come!  Let  me  take  you 
out." 

Clodagh  sobbed  on;  but  she  suffered  herself  to  be 
led  down  the  stairs  and  across  the  hall  towards  the 
open  door.  There,  however,  she  paused,  newly  ar- 
rested by  her  grief. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Milbanke,"  she  cried,  "I  can't  believe  it! 
I  can't  believe  that  we'll  never  see  him  again.  Poor 
father!     Oh,  poor  father!" 

But  Milbanke  was  equal  to  the  situation. 

"  You  must  be  brave,"  he  said,  kindly.  "You  must 
remember  that  he  would  like  you  to  be  brave." 

The  words  were  an  inspiration;  with  marvellous 
efficacy  they  checked  the  torrent  of  Clodagh 's  tears. 
For  a  moment  she  stood  looking  at  him  in  a  dazed, 
uncertain  way ;  then  she  lifted  her  head  in  a  pathetic 
attempt  at  decisive  action. 

"You  are  right,"  she  said,  unevenly.  "He  would 
like  to  know  that  I  was  brave." 

The  declaration  seemed  to  cost  her  an  immense 
effort,  for  instantly   it   was  made  she  turned  away 

126 


THE     GAMBLER 

from  Milbanke,  freeing  herself  from  his  detaining 
arm.  And  as  though  fearing  to  trust  herself  to  any 
further  onrush  of  emotion,  she  stepped  through  the 
open  door  and  walked  quickly  forward  to  where  the 
gravelled  drive  merged  into  the  long  and  narrow 
glen  in  which  the  Orristown  woods  met  the  sea. 

Down  the  wide  track  leading  to  this  glen  she  walk- 
ed, with  head  rigidly  erect  and  with  resolutely  set  lips, 
while  Milbanke  followed  in  the  rear.  Now  that  the 
immediate  need  for  his  protection  had  been  removed, 
his  mind  involuntarily  reverted  to  his  earlier  and 
more  tumultuous  thoughts.  With  a  strange,  half- 
timid  excitement,  he  acknowledged  the  personal 
element  in  his  surroundings,  and  exulted  with  a 
certain  tremulous  joy  in  the  keen  air  that  blew  inland 
from  the  sea — in  the  pleasant  earthy  smell  of  the 
moss  that  clothed  the  rough  stones  of  the  boundary 
wall  skirting  the  path — in  the  promise  of  spring, 
suggested  by  the  hardy  green  of  the  wild  violet  plants 
clustering  at  the  roots  of  the  beech-trees.  And  with 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  Clodagh's  sHm,  black  figure,  he 
walked  forward  in  a  vaguely  intoxicating  dream. 

For  the  full  course  of  the  path  she  went  on  steadily ; 
but  reaching  the  glen  she  paused;  and  there,  as  if  by 
a  prearrangement  of  destiny,  Milbanke  overtook  her. 

With  a  quiet,  unostentatious  movement  he  stepped 
to  her  side,  and  stood  looking  upon  the  scene  that 
spread  before  them. 

The  scene  was  not  imposing,  but  it  was  beautiful 
with  the  brooding,  solemn  beauty  that  emanates 
from  Ireland.  Upon  one  hand,  the  sea  stretched 
away  green,  invincible,  and  cold,  as  it  so  often  looks  in 
early  spring;  upon  the  other,  the  woods  lay  a  mass 
of  leafless,  interlacing  boughs  that  formed  a  clean, 
brown  silhouette  against  the  gray  sky;  while  directly 

127 


THE    GAMBLER 

in  front,  the  first  undulation  of  the  rugged  Orristown 
cHffs  stood  up  an  impregnable  rampart  against  the 
outer  world. 

For  a  long,  silent  moment  Clodagh  surveyed  the 
scene;  then,  with  one  of  the  impulsive,  unstudied 
gestures  that  were  so  characteristic  of  her,  she  looked 
round;  and  for  the  first  time  since  they  had  left  the 
house  her  eyes  rested  on  Milbanke's  face. 

"You  are  very  kind  to  me,"  she  said,  suddenly. 
"Why  are  you  so  kind?" 

The  words,  spoken  with  complete  ingenuousness, 
came  at  a  singularly  appropriate  moment.  To  Mil- 
banke,  nervously  conscious  of  his  own  emotions,  they 
seemed  inspired.  With  a  quick,  unsteady  gesture, 
he  wheeled  round,  and  putting  out  his  hand,  caught 
hers. 

"  It— it  is  easy  to  be  kind  to  some  people,"  he  said, 
almost  inarticulately. 

Clodagh  looked  at  him  in  some  surprise ;  but  it  did 
not  occur  to  her  to  withdraw  her  hand.  She  stood 
perfectly  calm  and  unembarrassed;  and  presently, 
as  he  made  no  attempt  at  further  speech,  her  glance 
wandered  back  to  the  cool  stretch  of  green  water. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  slowly.  "  I  suppose  it  is  easy  to  be 
nice  to  some  people,  but  not  to  selfish  people  like 
me." 

At  her  words  Milbanke's  hand  tightened  abruptly. 

"You  must  not  say  that,"  lie  murmured.  "  I  have 
never  seen  any  faults  in  your  character.  And  even- 
even  if  I  had — "  His  voice  quickened,  confusedly. 
"Even  if  I  had  seen  them,  you  would  still  be  the — 
the  child  of  my  oldest  friend." 

He  spoke  disjointedh'  and  agitatedly;  but  at  his 
words  Clodagh  turnefl  to  him  afresh  with  a  grateful, 
impulsive  movement. 

128 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Ah,  then  I  understand!"  she  said,  warmly.  "You 
are  very  kind — you  are  very  good — -" 

At  her  movement  and  her  tone  a  mental  giddiness 
seized  upon  Milbanke.  A  flush  rose  to  his  temples, 
and  his  fingers  twitched. 

"Clodagh,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "let  me  be  kind  to 
you  always  ?  Let — let  me  marry  you — and  be  kind 
to  you  always?" 

The  a])peal  came  forth  with  volcanic  suddenness. 
He  had  not  meant  to  be  precipitate;  it  was  entirely 
alien  to  his  slow,  methodical  nature  to  plunge  head- 
long into  any  situation.  But  the  occasion  was  un- 
precedented; circumstances  overwhelmed  him.  For 
a  long  space  after  he  had  spoken  he  stood  as  if 
transfixed,  his  eyes  straining  to  catch  the  expression 
on  Clodagh's  face,  his  pale,  ascetic  features  puckered 
with  anxiety. 

The  pause  was  long — preternaturally  long.  Clodagh 
stood  as  motionless  as  he,  her  hand  still  resting  passive 
in  his  clasp,  her  clear  eyes  staring  into  his  in  stupefied 
amazement.  It  was  plainly  evident  that  no  realiza- 
tion of  the  declaration  just  made  had  penetrated  her 
understanding.  To  her  mind — unattuned,  even  vague- 
Iv,  to  the  idea  of  love,  and  temporarily  numbed 
by  her  grief  —  the  thought  that  her  father's  friend 
could  consider  her  in  any  Hght  but  that  of  a  child  was 
too  preposterous,  too  unreal  to  come  spontaneously. 
The  belief  that  Milbankc's  extraordinary  words  but 
needed  some  explanatory  addition  held  her  attentive 
and  expectant.  And  under  this  conviction  she  stood 
unconscious  of  his  close  regard  and  unembarrassed  by 
the  pressure  of  his  hand. 

At  last,  as  some  shadowy  perception  of  her  thoughts 
obtruded  itself  upon  him,  he  stirred  nervously,  and 
the  flush  upon  his  face  deepened. 

9  129 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Clodagh,"  he  said,  "have  I  made  myself  plain? 
Do  you  understand  that  I— that  I  wish  to  marry 
you?     That  I  want  you  for  my — my  wife?" 

The  final  word  with  its  intense  incongruity  cut 
suddenly  through  the  mist  of  her  bewilderment.  In 
a  flash  of  comprehension  the  meaning  of  his  declara- 
tion sprang  to  her  mind.  Her  face  turned  red,  then 
pale;  with  a  sharp  movement  she  drew  away  her 
hand. 

"You  want  to  marry  me?"  she  said,  in  a  slow, 
amazed  voice. 

Before  the  note  of  blank,  undisguised  incredulity, 
Milbanke  shrank  back  into  himself. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  hurriedly.  "Yes;  that  is  my 
desire.  I  know  that  perhaps  it  may  —  may  seem 
incongruous.     You  are  very  young;  and  I — " 

He  hesitated  with  a  painful  touch  of  embarrass- 
ment.    At  the  hesitation  Clodagh's  voice  broke  forth. 

"But  I  don't  want  to  marry,"  she  cried.  "I  don't 
want  to  marry— any  one." 

There  was  a  sharp,  half -frightened  note  audible  in 
her  voice.  For  the  moment  her  whole  attitude  was 
that  of  the  inexperienced  being  who  clings  instinctive- 
ly to  the  rock  of  present  things,  and  obstinately  re- 
fuses to  be  cast  into  the  sea  of  future  possibilities. 
For  the  moment  she  was  blind  to  the  instrument  that 
was  forcing  her  towards  those  possibilities.  To  her 
immature  mind,  it  was  the  choice  between  the  known 
and  the  unknown.  Then  suddenly  and  accidentally 
her  eyes  came  back  to  Milbanke's  face;  and  the 
personal  element  in  the  choice  assailed  her  abruptly. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't!"  she  cried,  involuntarily.  "I 
couldn't— I   couldn't!" 

She  did  not  intend  to  hurt  him;  but  cruelty  is 
the  prerogative  of  the  young,  and  she  failed  to  see 

130 


YOU     W.Wr     H)     MAKKV     Ml;''    sill-     SAII)' 


THE    GAMBLER 

that  he  winced  before  the  decisive  honesty  of  her 
words. 

"Am  I  so — so  very  distasteful?"  he  asked,  in  a  low, 
unsteady  voice. 

She  looked  at  him  in  silence.  It  was  the  inevitable 
clash  of  youth  and  age.  She  was  warm-hearted,  she 
was  capable  of  generous  action;  but  before  all  else, 
she  was  young — the  triumphant  inheritor  of  the  ages. 
Life  stretched  before  her,  while  it  lay  Ijehind  him. 
She  looked  at  him;  and  as  she  looked  a  wave  of 
revolt  —  a  strong,  sudden  sense  of  her  individual 
right  to  happiness — surged  through  her. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't!"  she  cried  again.     "I  couldn't!" 

And  before  Milbanke  could  reply — before  he  had 
time  to  comprehend  the  purport  of  her  words — she 
had  turned  and  tied  in  the  direction  of  the  house, 
leaving  him  standing  as  he  was,  dazed  and  petrified. 

Upward  along  the  path  Clodagh  ran.  Her  impulse 
towards  flight  had  been  childish,  and  her  thoughts 
as  she  sped  forward  were  as  unreasonable  and  con- 
fused as  a  child's.  She  was  vaguely,  blindly  filled 
with  a  desire  to  escape — from  what  she  knew  not ;  to 
evade — what  she  knew  not  Her  one  consecutive 
thought  was  the  knowledge  that  the  prop  upon 
which  she  had  leaned  in  these  days  of  sorrow  and 
despair  had  unaccountably  and  suddenly  been  with- 
drawn, and  that  she  stood  wofull.y  alone  and  un- 
protected. 

On  she  ran,  until  the  archway  of  the  court-yard 
broke  into  view;  then  without  a  moment's  hesitation 
she  swerved  to  the  left,  sped  across  the  yard,  and 
burst  unceremoniously  into  the  kitchen. 

In  the  kitchen  Hannah  was  busving  herself  over 
the  fire  that,  in  the  confusion  of  tlie  morning's  event, 

131 


THE    GAMBLER 

had  been  suffered  to  die  down.  At  the  tempestuous 
opening  of  the  door  she  turned  sharply  round,  and  for 
a  second  stood  staring  at  the  disturbed  face  of  her 
young  mistress;  then,  with  the  intuitive  tact  of  her 
race,  she  suddenly  opened  her  ample  arms,  and  with 
a  sob  Clodagh  rushed  towards  her. 

For  a  long  moment  Hannah  held  her  as  if  she  had 
been  a  baby,  patting  her  shoulder  and  smoothing 
her  ruffled  hair,  while  she  cried  out  her  grief  and 
bewilderment.  At  last,  with  a  slow,  sobbing  breath, 
she  raised  her  head. 

"Oh,  Hannah,  I  want  father!"  she  said.  "I  want 
father!" 

Hannah  drew  her  closer  to  her  broad  shoulder. 

"Whisht,  now!"  she  murmured,  tenderly.  "  Whisht, 
now!     Sure  he's  betther  off.     Sure  he's  betther  off." 

But  Clodagh's  mind  was  too  agitated  to  take 
comfort.  With  a  change  of  mental  attitude,  she 
altered  her  physical  position — freeing  herself  abruptly 
from  Hannah's  embrace. 

"Hannah,"  she  cried,  suddenly,  "Mr.  Milbanke 
wants  me  to  marry  him.  And  I  won't!  I  can't!  I 
won't!' 

Hannah's  eyes  narrowed  sharply.  But  whatever 
her  emotion  she  checked  it,  and  bent  over  her  charge 
with  another  caress. 

"Sure  you  won't,  of  course,  my  lamb.  Who'd 
be  askin'  you?" 

"No  one." 

"Thin  why  would  you  be  frettin'  yourself?" 

"I'm  not  fretting  myself.     Only — " 

"Only  what?" 

"Only —  Oh,  nothing,  notliing — "  With  a  dis- 
tressed movement  Clodagh  pushed  back  her  hair 
from    her    forehead.     Then    she    turned    to    the   old 

132 


THE    GAMBLER 

servant  afresh.  "Hannah,"  she  demanded,  "wliy 
does  he  want  to  marry  me?     Why  does  he  want  to?" 

Hannah  was  silent  for  a  space;  then  her  shrewd, 
ugly  face  puckered  into  an  expression  of  profound 
wisdom. 

"Men  are  quare,"  she  said,  oracularly.  "The 
oulder,  the  quarcr.  Maybe  he's  thinkin'  of  himself 
in  the  matther;  but  maybe" — her  voice  dropped  im- 
pressively— "maybe,  Miss  Clodagh,  'tis  the  way  he's 
thinkin'  of  you — " 

She  paused  with  deep  significance. 

The  eiTort  after  effect  was  not  wasted.  Clodagh 
looked  up  sharply. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked. 

"Mane?"  Hannah  turned  away,  and,  picking  up  a 
poker,  began  softly  to  rake  the  ashes  from  the  fire. 
"Sure  what  would  I  be  manin?" 

"But  you  do  mean  something.     What  is  it?" 

Hannah  went  on  with  her  task. 

Clodagh  stamped  her  foot. 

"Hannah,  what  is  it?" 

"Nothin'.  Sure,  nothin'  at  all.  I'm  only  sayin* 
what  quare  notions  men  takes." 

"But  you  mean  something  else.     What  is  it?" 

Hannah  stolidly  continued  to  rake  out  the  remnants 
of  the  fire. 

"I  know  nothin',"  she  said,  obstinately.  "Ask 
Mrs.   Laurence." 

"  But  you  do.      I  know  by  your  voice.     What  is  it  ?" 

An  alert,  unconscious  note  of  apprehension  had 
crept  into  Clodagh's  tone.  Her  li]is  suddenly  tight- 
ened, her  eyes  became  wide. 

"What  is  it,  Hannah?"  she  exclaimed.  "What's 
the  reason  he  wants  to  marry  me  ?" 

"Sure  no  r'ason  at  all." 

^33 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Oh!" 

Clodagh  made  a  gesture  of  anger  and  disgust. 
Then  she  made  a  fresh  appeal. 

"Hannah,  please — " 

But  Hannah  went  on  with  her  work.  Years  of 
shrewd  observation  had  taught  her  the  power  of 
silence. 

"Then  you  won't  tell  me?" 

There  was  no  response. 

"Hannah!" 

At  last  the  old  servant  turned,  as  though  pressed 
beyond  endurance. 

"Well,"  she  said,  with  seeming  reluctance,  "may- 
be he'd  be  thinkin'  'twould  be  aisier  for  wan  of  the 
Asshlins  to  be  drawin'  out  of  her  husband's  pocket 
than  to  be — " 

But  Clodagh  interrupted.  She  turned  suddenly, 
her  cheeks  burning,  her  eyes  ablaze. 

"Hannah!"  she  cried,  in  sharp,  pained  alarm. 

But  Hannah  had  said  her  say.  With  her  old,  im- 
perturbable gesture  she  turned  once  more  to  her 
task. 

"I  know  nothin',"  she  murmured,  obstinately.  "If 
you're  wantin'  more,  ask  Mrs.  Laurence." 

For  a  while  Clodagh  stood,  transfixed  by  the  idea 
presented  to  her  mind.  Then,  action  and  certainty 
becoming  suddenly  indispensable,  she  turned  on  her 
heel. 

"Very  well!"  she  said,  tersely.  "Very  well!  I  will 
ask  Aunt  Fan." 

And  with  as  scant  ceremony  as  she  had  entered  it, 
she  swept  out  of  the  kitchen. 

As  the  door  banged,  Hannah  glanced  over  her 
shoulder,  her  red  face  brimming  with  tenderness. 

"  Wisha,  'tis  all  for  the  best,"  she  murmured,  aloud. 

134 


THE    GAMBLER 

" 'Tis    all    for    the    best.      But    (iod    forgive    me    for 
hurtin'  a  hair  of  her  head!" 

With  feet  that  scarcely  felt  tiie  ground  beneath 
them,  Clodagh  sped  along  the  stone  passages  that 
led  to  the  hall,  and  from  thence  ascended  to  the 
bedrooms.  Her  senses  were  acutely  alive,  her  mind 
alert  with  an  unbearable  apprehension.  A  new  dread 
that,  by  the  power  of  intuition,  had  almost  become 
a  certainty,  impelled  her  forward  without  the  con- 
scious action  of  her  will.  Without  any  hesitancy  or 
indecision,  she  traversed  the  long  corridor,  and,  paus- 
ing before  the  room  occupied  by  her  aunt,  knocked 
peremptorily  upon  the  door. 

After  a  moment's  wait  Mrs.  Asshlin's  querulous 
voice  was  raised  in  response. 

"  Well  ?"  she  asked.     "  What  is  it  ?     Who's  there  ?" 

"Clodagh." 

There  was  an  audible  sigh.  And  the  usual  "Come 
in!"  followed  somewhat  tardily. 

Clodagh  instantly  turned  the  handle  and  opened 
the  door. 

In  this  room  the  blinds  had  not  yet  been  drawn 
up,  and  only  a  yellowish  light  filtered  in  from  outside ; 
in  the  grate  a  fire  burned  unevenly;  and  close  beside 
it  sat  Mrs.  Asshlin,  a  cup  of  tea  in  her  hand,  a  black 
woollen  shawl  wrapped  about  her  shoulders.  As  her 
niece  entered,  she  glanced  round  irritably,  drawing 
the  wrap  more  closely  round  her. 

"Shut  the  door,  Clodagh"  she  said.  "I  hate  these 
big,  draughty  houses." 

Clodagh  obeyed  in  silence,  then,  walking  deliberate- 
ly across  the  room,  paused  by  her  aunt's  chair.  Her 
face  was  still  burning  and  her  heart  beat  unpleasantly 
fast. 

"Aunt  Fan,"  she  said.      "1  want  to  ask  you  some- 

135 


THE    GAMBLER 

thing.     Why  should  Mr.  Milbanke  bother  about  me 
— about  us  ?" 

Mrs.  Asshhn,  startled  by  the  suddenness  of  the 
unlooked-for  attack,  turned  in  her  seat  and  peered 
through  the  yellow  twilight  into  her  niece's  excited 
face. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  you,  child?" 
she  demanded. 

"Nothing.     But  I  want  to  know." 

Mrs.  Asshlin  made  a  gesture  tantamount  to 
shrugging  her  shoulders. 

"It  is  quite  natural  that  Mr.  Milbanke  should  be 
interested  in  you.  He  was  your  father's  oldest 
friend." 

"Yes,  yes."  Clodagh  bent  forward  uncontrollably. 
"And,  Aunt  Fan,  has  father  died  poor?  Has — has 
he  left  debts?     That's  what  I  want  to  know." 

Mrs.  Asshlin  moved  nervously  in  her  chair. 

"My  dear  child — "  she  began,  weakly. 

"Has  he?     Oh,  Aunt  Fan,  has  he  left  debts?" 

She  clasped  her  hands  involuntarily. 

Mrs.  Asshlin  was  taken  at  a  disadvantage. 

"Well—"  she  stammered.     "Well—" 

"He  has  left  debts?" 

"Well,  yes.     If  you  must  know — he  has." 

Clodagh  caught  her  breath. 

"  Of  course,  as  I  often  said,"  Mrs.  Asshlin  continued, 
"poor  Denis  was  a  terribly  improvident  man — " 

But  Clodagh  checked  her. 

"Don't!"  she  said,  faintly.  "I  couldn't  bear  it — 
just  to-day.     Are  the  debts  big?" 

"  Immense." 

Mrs.  Asshlin  made  the  reply  sharply.  She  was  not 
an  ill-natured  woman,  but  her  sense  of  dignity  had 
been  hurt. 

136 


THE    GAMBLER 

As  the  word  was  spoken,  Clodagh  swayed  a  little. 
The  black  cloud  of  vague  liabilities  that  hangs  over  so 
many  Irish  houses  had  suddenly  descended  upon  her. 
And  in  the  consequent  shock  it  seemed  that  the 
ground  literally  rocked  under  her  feet.  After  a 
moment  she  steadied  herself. 

"Must  the  place  go?"  she  asked,  in  an  intensely 
quiet  voice. 

"Yes.     At  least—" 

"What?" 

"It  would  have  had  to  go,  only — " 

"Only  for  what?"  In  her  keen  anxiety,  Clodagh 
stooped  forward  and  laid  her  hand  on  her  aunt's 
shoulder.     "Only  for  what.  Aunt  Fan?" 

Shaken  and  unnerved  at  the  interrogation,  Mrs. 
Asshlin  sat  up  with  a  start. 

"  Why  do  you  do  that,  Clodagh  ?"  she  cried.  "  Why 
do  you  do  that  ?  You  gave  me  a  palpitation  of  the 
heart." 

But  Clodagh's  eyes  still  burned  with  inquiry. 

"  Why  won't  the  place  have  to  go?"  she  demanded. 
"  How  will  the  debts  be  paid  ?" 

Mrs.  Asshlin  freed  herself  nervously  from  her 
niece's  hand. 

"Mr.  Milbanke  will  pay  them,"  she  said,  impulsive- 
ly; then  instantly  she  checked  herself.  "Oh,  what 
have  I  said!"  she  exclaimed.  "Don't  pretend  that 
I  told  you,  Clodagh.  He  is  so  particular  that  you 
shouldn't  know." 

But  Clodagh  scarcely  heard.  Her  hand  had 
dropped  to  her  side,  and  she  stood  staring  blankly  at 
her  aunt. 

"You  mean  to  say  that  he's  going  to  pay  father's 
debts — our  debts?" 

"Yes.     He  even  wants  to  put  the  place  into  good 

137 


THE     GAMBLER 

repair.     Poor  Denis  seems  to  have  cast  a  perfect  spell 
over  him." 

"Then   we'll   owe   him   something   we   can   never 

possibly  repay!" 

Mrs.  Asshlin  drew  herself  up. 

"Not  exactly  owe,"  she  corrected.  "It  is  an— an 
act  of  friendship.  The  Asshlins  have  never  been 
indebted  to  any  one  for  a  favor.  Of  course,  Mr. 
Milbanke  is  a  wealthy  man;  and  it's  easy  to  be 
generous  when  you  have  money — " 

She  heaved  a  sigh. 

But  Clodagh  stood  staring  vacantly  at  the  opposite 

wall. 

"It's  a  debt  all  the  same,"  she  said,  after  a  long 
pause.  "I  suppose  it  is  what  father  used  to  call  a 
debt  of  honor." 

She  spoke  in  a  slow,  mechanical  voice;  then,  as  if 
moved  to  action  by  her  train  of  thought,  she  turned 
without  waiting  for  her  aunt's  comment  and  walked 
out  of  the  room. 

Traversing  the  corridor,  she  descended  the  stairs 
and  passed  straight  to  the  hall-door.  Once  in  the 
open,  she  wheeled  to  the  right  with  a  steady,  deliber- 
ate movement,  and  began  slowly  to  retrace  the  steps 
she  had  taken  nearly  half  an  hour  earlier. 

Steadily  and  unemotionally  she  went  forward, 
skirting  the  court-yard,  until,  at  the  dip  of  the  path, 
the  glen  came  into  view,  and  with  it  Milbanke 's 
precise,  black  figure,  standing  exactly  as  she  had 
seen  it  last. 

The  fact  caused  her  no  surprise.  That  he  should 
still  be  there  seemed  the  natural — the  anticipated 
thing;  and  without  any  pause — any  moment  of 
hesitation  or  delay — she  moved  directly  towards  him. 

As  she  reached  his  side  her  cheeks  were  hot,  her 

138 


THE    GAMBLER 

heart  was  still  beating  unevenly ;  and,  absorbed  by  her 
own  emotion,  she  failed  to  see  the  dejected  droop  of 
his  shoulders — the  slight,  pathetic  suggestion  of  age 
in  his  bent  back. 

Her  footsteps  were  scarcely  audible  on  the  damp 
earth ;  and  she  was  close  beside  him  before  he  became 
conscious  of  her  presence;  as  he  did  so,  however,  he 
started  violently,  and  the  blood  rushed  incontinently 
over  his  forehead  and  cheeks. 

"Clodagh!"  he  stammered. 

But  Clodagh  checked  him,  laying  her  hand  quickly 
on  his  arm. 

"Mr.  Milbanke,"  she  said,  hurriedly.  "Will  you 
forgive  me  for  what  I  said  ?  I  want  to  take  it  back. 
I  want  to  say  that,  if  you  still  like,  I — I  will  marry 
you." 


XV 

AND  thus  it  came  about  that  Clodagh  AsshHn 
,  entered  upon  a  new  phase  of  that  precarious 
condition  that  we  call  life.  The  impulse  that  had 
induced  her  to  accept  Milbanke's  proposal  was  in  no 
way  complex.  The  knowledge  had  suddenly  been 
conveyed  to  her  that,  through  no  act  of  her  own,  she 
had  been  placed  under  a  deep  obligation;  and  her 
primary — her  inherited — instinct  had  been  to  pay 
her  debt  as  speedily  and  as  fully  as  lay  within  her 
power,  ignoring,  in  her  lack  of  worldly  wisdom,  the 
fact  that  such  a  bargain  must  of  necessity  possess 
obligations  other  than  personal,  which  would  demand 
subsequent  settlement. 

However  unversed  she  may  be  in  the  world's  ways, 
it  is  scarcely  to  be  supposed  that  any  young  girl,  un- 
der normal  conditions,  can  look  upon  her  own  mar- 
riage as  an  abstract  thing.  But  the  circumstances  of 
Clodagh's  case  were  essentially  abnormal.  Milbanke's 
proposal — and  the  facts  that  brought  her  to  accept  it 
— came  at  a  time  when  her  mind  and  her  emotions 
were  numbed  by  her  first  poignant  encounter  with 
death  and  grief;  and  for  the  time  being  her  outlook 
upon  existence  was  clouded.  The  present  seemed 
something  sombre,  desolate,  and  impalpable,  while 
the  future  was  something  absolutely  void. 

For  two  days  after  the  scene  in  the  glen,  she  and 
Milbanke  avoided  all  allusion  to  what  had  taken  place 

140 


THE    GAMBLER 

between  them.  He  appeared  possessed  by  an  in- 
surmountable nervous  reticence,  while  she,  immersed 
in  her  trouble,  seemed  almost  to  have  forgotten  what 
had  occurred. 

On  the  evening  of  the  third  day,  however,  the  sub- 
ject was  again  broached. 

Milbanke  was  sitting  by  one  of  the  long  dining- 
room  windows,  reading  by  the  faint  twilight  that 
filtered  in  from  the  fast-darkening  sky.  The  light  in 
the  room  was  fitful,  for,  though  the  table  was  already 
laid  for  dinner,  the  candles  had  not  yet  been  lighted. 

With  his  book  held  close  to  his  eyes,  he  had  been 
reading  studiously  for  close  upon  an  hour  when  the 
quick  opening  of  the  door  behind  him  caused  him  to 
look  round.  As  he  did  so,  he  closed  his  book  some- 
what hastily  and  rose  with  a  shght  gesture  of  em- 
barrassment, for  the  disturber  of  his  peace  was 
Clodagh.  But  it  was  not  so  much  the  fact  of  her  entry 
that  had  startled  him,  as  the  fact  that,  for  the  first 
time  since  her  father's  death,  she  was  arrayed  in  her 
riding-habit. 

Shaken  out  of  his  calm,  he  turned  to  her  at  once. 

"Are  you — are  you  going  for  a  ride?"  he  asked,  in 
unconcealed  surprise. 

Clodagh  nodded.  She  was  drawing  on  her  thick 
chamois  gloves,  and  her  riding-crop  was  held  under 
her  arm.  Had  the  light  in  the  room  been  stronger, 
he  would  have  seen  that  her  lips  were  firmly  set  and 
her  eyes  bright  with  resolution.  But  his  mind  was 
absorbed  by  his  surprise. 

"  But  is  it  not  rather — late  ?"  he  hazarded,  anxious- 
ly, with  a  glance  towards  the  window. 

She  looked  up  astonished. 

"Late?"  she  repeated,  incredulously. 

Then  the  look  of  faintly  contemptuous  tolerance 

141 


THE    GAMBLER 

that    sometimes    touched   her   with    regard    to    him 
passed  over  her  face. 

"Oh  no;  not  at  all!"  she  explained.  "I'm  used  to 
riding  in  the  evening.  You  see,  Polly  must  be 
exercised;  and  I'd  rather  it  was  dark,  the  first  time  I 
rode  after — " 

Her  voice  faltered. 

Milbanke  heard  the  tremor,  and,  as  once  before,  his 
sense  of  personal  timidity  fled  before  his  spontaneous 
pity. 

"Clodagh,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "allow  me  to  ride 
with  you?  I  was  a  fairly  good  horseman  in — in 
my  day." 

There  was  pathos  in  the  deprecating  justification ; 
but  Clodagh's  attention  was  caught  by  the  words  alone. 

' '  You ! ' '  she  said ,  in  blank  amazement. 

Then  something  in  the  crudeness  of  her  tone  struck 
upon  her,  and  she  made  haste  to  amend  her  excla- 
mation. 

"Of  course  it's  very,  very  kind  of  you,"  she  added, 
awkwardly. 

At  her  lowered  tone,  Milbanke  colored,  and  took 
a  step  forward. 

"Clodagh,"  he  began,  with  a  flash  of  courage,  "I 
think  you  might  allow  me  to  be  more  kind  to  you 
than  you  do.  I  think  I  might  give  you  more  pro- 
tection. And  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  perhaps  we 
ought  to  announce  our — our  engagement — " 

He  halted  nervously. 

As  soon  as  he  had  begun  to  speak,  Clodagh  had 
walked  away  from  him  acrOvSS  the  room;  and  now  she 
stood  by  the  mantel-piece  looking  down  steadily  into 
the  fire. 

"Do  you  agree  with  me?"  he  asked,  moving  ner- 
vously towards  her. 

142 


THE    GAMBLER 

There  was  an  embarrassed  silence.  And  in  his 
perturbation  he  glanced  from  her  bent  head  to  the 
picture  above  the  chimney-piece  from  which  An- 
thony Asshlin's  ardent  face  showed  out  a  vague  patch 
of  color  against  its  black  background. 

"Clodagh,"  he  said,  suddenly.  "Allow  me  to  tell 
Mrs.  Asshlin  that  you  have  promised  to  marry  me." 

But  still  Clodagh  did  not  answer;  still  she  stood 
gazing  enigmatically  into  the  burning  logs,  her  slight 
figure  and  warm,  youthful  face  fitfully  lighted  by  the 
capr  cious,  spurting  flames. 

"Clodagh!"  he  excla  med.  And  there  was  a  note 
of  uneasiness  in  his  low,  deprecating  voice. 

Then  at  last  she  turned,  and  their  eyes  met. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  quietly.  "You  may  tell 
Aunt  Fan.  But,  if  you  don't  mind,  I'll  ride  by 
myself  " 

That  night,  at  the  conclusion  of  dinner,  the  en- 
gagement was  announced.  All  the  members  of  the 
Asshlin  fam  ly  were  seated  about  the  table  when 
Milbanke,  who  had  practically  eaten  nothing  during 
the  meal,  summoned  his  wavering  courage  and  leaned 
across  the  table  towards  Mrs.  Asshlin  who  was  sitting 
upon  his  right  hand. 

"  Mrs.  Asshlin,"  he  began,  almost  inaudibly.  "I — 
that  is,  Clodagh  and  I — "  He  glanced  timidly  to 
where  Clodagh  sat,  erect  and  immovable,  at  the  head 
of  the  table.  "Clodagh  and  I  have — have  an  an- 
nouncement to  make.  We — that  is,  I — "  He  stam- 
mered hopelessly.  "Mrs.  Asshlin,  Clodagh  has  made 
me  very — very  proud  and  very  happy.  She  has  con- 
sented to — to  be  my  wife." 

He  took  a  deep,  agitated  breath  of  wordless  relief 
that  the  confession  was  made. 

143 


THE    GAMBLER 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Then  suddenly  Mrs. 
Asshlin  extended  both  hands  towards  him  in  a 
hysterical  outburst  of  feeling. 

"My  dear— dear  Mr.  Milbanke,"  she  said.  "What 
a  shock!  What  a  surprise,  I  should  say!  What 
would  my  poor  brother-in-law  have  thought!  But 
Providence  ordains  everything.  I'm  sure  I  congratu- 
late you  —  congratulate  you  both — "  She  turned 
to  Clodagh.  "Though  of  course  it  is  not  the  time 
for  congratulations—"  She  hastily  drew  out  her 
handkerchief. 

As  she  did  so,  little  Nance  rose  softly  from  the  table 
and  slipped  unobserved  from  the  room.  At  Mil- 
banke's  words,  the  child's  face  had  turned  terribly 
white,  and  she  had  cast  an  appealing,  incredulous 
look  at  Clodagh.  But  Clodagh,  in  her  self-imposed 
stoHdity,  had  seen  nothing  of  the  expressions  round 
her;  and  now,  as  her  sister  left  her  place  and  crossed 
the  room  the  significance  of  the  action  went  unno- 
ticed. 

For  a  moment  the  only  sound  audible  in  the  room 
was  the  cracking  of  the  fire  and  Mrs.  Asshlin's 
muffled  weeping;  but  at  last  Milbanke,  agonized  into 
action,  put  out  his  hand  and  touched  her  arm. 

"Please  do  not  give  way  to  your  feelings,  Mrs. 
Asshlin!"  he  urged.     "Think— think  of  Clodagh!" 

Thus  appealed  to,  Mrs.  AsshHn  wiped  away  the 
half-dozen  tears  that  had  trickled  down  her  cheek. 

"You  must  forgive  me,"  she  murmured.  "We 
Irish  take  things  too  much  to  heart.  It — it  brought 
my  own  engagement  back  to  me — and,  of  course,  my 
poor  Laurence's  death.  I  hope,  indeed,  that  it  v/ill 
be  a  very  long  time  before  Clodagh — " 

But  the  words  were  broken  by  a  clatter  from  the 
other  side  of  the  table,  as  young  Laurence  Asshlin 

144 


THE     GAMBLER 

opportunely  knocked  one  wineglass  against  another. 
And  in  the  moment  of  interruption  Clodagh  pushed 
back  her  chair  and  stood  up. 

"If  you  don't  mind,  Aunt  Fan,"  she  said,  "I 
think  I'll  go  to  bed.  The — the  ride  has  tired  me. 
Good-night."  And  without  a  glance  at  any  one,  she 
walked  out  of  the  room. 

But  she  had  scarcely  crossed  the  hall  before  a  step 
behind  her  caused  her  to  pause,  and,  looking  back, 
she  saw  the  figure  of  her  cousin  a  pace  or  two  in  the 
rear. 

In  the  half-Hght  of  the  place,  the  two  confronted 
each  other,  and  Clodagh  lifted  her  head  in  a  move- 
ment that  was  common  to  them  both. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  asked. 

Asshlin  stepped  forward. 

"'Tisn't  true,  Clo?"  he  asked,  breathlessly. 

Clodagh  looked  at  him  defiantly  and  nodded. 

"Yes,"  she  said.     "'Tistrue." 

For  a  moment  he  stared  at  her  incredulously,  then 
his  incredulity  drove  him  to  speech. 

"But,  Clo,"  he  cried,  "he's  sixty,  if  he's  a  day! 
And  you — " 

Clodagh  flushed. 

"Stop,  Larry!"  she  said,  unevenly.  "Father  was 
nearly  sixty." 

But  Asshlin's  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  had  been 
aroused 

"That's  all  very  well!"  he  cried,  scornfully.  "  Uncle 
Denis  was  all  right  for  a  father  or  an  uncle.  But  to 
marry!     Clo,  you're  mad!" 

Clodagh  turned  upon  him. 

"How  dare  you,  Larry?"  she  cried.  "You  are 
horrible!     I  hate  you!" 

Her  voice  caught;  and  with  a  sudden  passionate 
lo  145 


THE    GAMBLER 

gesture  she  wheeled  away  from  him  and  began  to 
mount  the  stairs. 

The  action  sobered  him.  With  impetuous  re- 
morse he  thrust  out  his  hand  to  detain  her. 

"Clo!"  he  said.     "  I  say,  Clo!" 

But  she  swept  his  hand  aside. 

"No!  No!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  don't  want  you! 
I  don't  want  you!  I  never  want  to  speak  to  you 
again.     You  are  hateful — detestable — " 

With  a  fierce  movement  she  pushed  past  his  out- 
stretched arm  and  flew  up  the  stairs. 

In  her  bedroom  Hannah  was  hovering  about  be- 
tween the  wash-stand  and  dressing-table,  a  lighted 
candle  in  one  hand,  a  carafe  of  water  in  the  other. 
At  the  sight  of  her  mistress  she  laid  both  her  burdens 
down  with  a  cry  of  delight. 

"My  darHn'!"  she  exclaimed.  "An'  it  is  thrue? 
Tim  heard  the  word  of  it  an'  he  carry  in'  the  cheese  out 
of  the  dinin'-room;  but  sure  I  wouldn't  belave  him — " 

But  Clodagh  checked  her. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Hannah!"  she  cried,  almost 
fiercely;  and,  turning  her  face  from  the  old  servant's 
scrutinizing  eyes,  she  walked  across  the  room  towards 
the  bed. 

For  a  moment  Hannah  stood  like  an  ungainly 
statue  in  the  middle  of  the  room;  then  she  nodded  to 
herself — a  nod  of  profound  and  silent  wisdom — and 
tiptoeing  out  of  the  room,  closed  the  door  behind 
her. 

Instantly  she  was  alone,  Clodagh  began  to  undress. 
With  hysterical  impetuosity  she  tore  off  each  gar- 
ment and  threw  it  untidily  upon  the  floor;  then 
slipping  into  bed,  she  buried  her  hot  face  in  the 
pillows  and  burst  into  a  violent,  unreasoning  torrent 
of  tears. 

146 


THE    GAMBLER 

For  ten  minutes  she  cried  unceasingly;  then  the 
storm  of  her  misery  was  checked.  The  door-handle 
was  very  softly  turned,  and  little  Nance  stole  into 
the  room. 

She  entered  eagerly,  then  paused,  frightened  by  the 
scene  before  her;  but  her  hesitation  was  very  brief. 
With  a  sudden  movement  of  resolution  she  sped 
across  the  space  that  divided  her  from  the  bed,  and 
laid  a  cold,  tremulous  hand  on  Clodagli's  shoulder. 

"Clo,"  she  said,  "is  it  true?  Are  you  going  to 
marry  him?  Are  you  going  away  from  here?" 
Her  voice  sounded  thin  and  far  away. 

Clodagh  raised  herself  on  one  elbow  and  looked 
at  her  sister  Her  face  was  flushed,  her  eyes  were 
preternaturally  bright. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  know?"  she  demanded, 
angrily.  "Why  is  everybody  bothering  me  like 
this  ?  Can't  I  do  what  I  like  ?  Can't  I  marry  if  I 
like?" 

Her  voice  rose  excitedly.  Then  suddenly  she 
caught  sight  of  Nance's  quivering,  wistful  little  face, 
and  her  anger  melted.  With  a  warm,  quick  move- 
ment, she  held  out  her  arms. 

"Nance!"  she  cried,  wildly.  "Little  Nance!  The 
only  person  in  the  world  that  I  really  love!" 


XVI 

THAT  night  Clodagh  fell  asleep  with  her  wet  cheek 
pressed  against  her  sister's  and  her  arms  clasped 
closely  round  her. 

Next  morning  she  woke  calmed  and  soothed  by 
her  outburst  of  the  night  before,  and  after  breakfast 
was  able  to  enter  into  the  primary  discussion  con- 
cerning her  marriage  without  any  show  of  emotion. 
The  conclave,  at  which  she,  her  aunt,  and  Milbanke 
alone  were  present,  took  place  in  the  drawing-room 
and  was  of  a  weighty  and  solemn  character.  The 
first  suggestion  was  put  forward  by  Mrs.  Asshlin, 
who,  with  the  native  distaste  for  all  hurried  and 
definite  action,  pleaded  that  an  engagement  of  six 
months  at  least  would  be  demanded  by  the  con- 
ventionalities before  a  marriage  could  take  place; 
but  here,  to  the  surprise  of  his  listeners,  Milbanke 
displayed  a  fresh  gleam  of  the  determination  and 
firmness  that  had  inspired  him  during  the  days  of 
sickness  and  death.  With  a  reasonableness  that 
could  not  be  gainsaid,  he  refuted  and  disposed  of  Mrs. 
Asshlin's  arguments,  and  with  a  daring  born  of  his 
new  position,  made  the  startling  proposal  that  the 
wedding  ceremony  should  be  performed  within  the 
shortest  possible  time,  and  that,  to  obviate  all  dif- 
ficulties, Clodagh  and  he  should  leave  Ireland  im- 
mediately, journeying  to  Italy  to  take  up  tlieir 
residence  in  the  villa  that  he  had  already  rented  at 
Florence  for  his  own  use. 

148 


THE    GAMBLER 

Immediately  the  suggestion  was  made,  Mrs.  Asshlin 
broke  forth  in  irresistible  objection. 

"Oh,  but  what  would  people  say?"  she  cried. 
"Think  of  what  people  would  say!  With  the  funeral 
scarcely  over!" 

Milbanke  looked  at  her  gravely.  His  matter-of- 
fact  mind  was  as  far  as  ever  from  comprehending  the 
ramifications  of  the  Irish  character. 

"But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Asshlin,"  he  urged,  "do  you 
think  we  need  really  consider  whether  people  talk  or 
not?     Surely  we  who  knew  and  loved  poor  Denis — " 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that.  No  one  knows  better  than  I  do 
what  a  friend  you  have  been — " 

Milbanke  stirred  uncomfortably. 

"  Please  do  not  speak  of  it.  I — I  did  no  more  than 
any  Christian  would  have  done.  What  I  mean  to 
suggest — " 

But  again  she  interrupted. 

"Yes,  yes;  I  know.  But  we  must  consider  the 
county.     We  must  consider  the  county." 

But  here  Clodagh,  who  was  standing  by  the  window, 
turned  swiftly  round. 

"Why  must  we?"  she  asked.  "The  county  never 
remembered  father  till  he  was  dead.  If  I'm  going  to 
be  married,  it's  all  the  same  to  me  whether  it's  in 
three  weeks  or  three  months  or  three  years." 

Milbanke  colored — not  quite  sure  whether  the  dec- 
laration was  propitious  or  the  reverse. 

"Certainly!  Certainly!"  he  broke  in,  nervously. 
"  I  think  your  view  is  a — a  very  sensible  one." 

Mrs.  Asshlin  shook  her  head  in  speechless  disap- 
proval. 

"And  what  is  to  become  of  Nance?"  she  asked, 
after  a  moment's  pause. 

Again  Milbanke  glanced  uncertainly  at  Clodagh. 

149 


THE    GAMBLER 

"My  idea,"  he  began,  deprecatingly,  "was  to  place 
the  child  at  a  good  English  school.  But  for  the  first 
year  or  two,  I  think  that  perhaps  Clodagh  might  be 
allowed  to  veto  any  arrangement  I  may  make." 

Clodagh  stepped  forward  suddenly  and  impulsively. 

"  Do  you  mean  that?"  she  asked. 

He  bent  his  head  gravely. 

"Then — then  let  us  take  her  with  us  to  Florence? 
'Twould  make  me  happier  than  anything  under  the 
sun." 

The  words  were  followed  by  a  slightly  dismayed 
pause.  Although  he  strove  bravely  to  conceal  the 
fact,  Milbanke's  face  fell.  And  Mrs.  Asshlin  became 
newly  and  markedly  shocked. 

"My  dear  Clodagh,"  she  began,  sternly. 

But  Milbanke  put  up  his  hand. 

"Pray  say  nothing,  Mrs.  Asshlin,"  he  broke  in, 
gently.     "Clodagh's  wishes  are  mine." 

The  blood  surged  into  Clodagh's  face  in  a  wave  of 
spontaneous  relief. 

"You  mean  that?"  she  said  again. 

Once  more  he  bent  his  head. 

"Then  I'll  marry  you  any  time  you  like,"  she  said, 
with  a  sudden,  impulsive  warmth. 

And  in  due  time  the  day  of  the  marriage  dawned. 
After  careful  consideration,  every  detail  had  been 
arranged  and  all  difficulties  smoothed  away."  The 
ceremony  was  to  take  place  in  the  small,  unpreten- 
tious Protestant  church  at  Carrigmore,  where,  Sunday 
after  Sunday,  since  the  days  of  her  early  childhood, 
Clodagh  had  hstened  to  the  Word  of  God,  and  had 
sent  up  her  own  immature  supplications  to  heaven. 
The  marriage — which  of  necessity  was  to  be  of  the 
most  private  nature — was  fixed  for  the  forenoon ;  and 

ISO 


THE    GAMBLER 

it  had  been  arranged  that  immediately  upon  4ts 
conclusion  Clodagh,  Nance,  and  Milbanke  should 
repair  to  Mrs.  Asshlin's  cottage,  from  which — having 
partaken  of  lunch  —  they  were  to  start  upon  their 
journey  without  returning  to  Orristown. 

The  wedding-morning  broke  gray  and  mild,  presag- 
ing a  typical  Irish  day.  After  a  night  of  broken  and 
restless  sleep,  Clodagh  woke  at  six,  and  slipped  out  of 
bed  without  disturbing  Nance. 

For  the  first  moment  or  two  she  sat  on  the  side  of 
her  bed,  her  hands  locked  behind  her  head,  her  bare 
feet  resting  upon  the  uncarpeted  floor.  Then  sud- 
denly the  sight  of  the  long  card-board  box  that  had 
arrived  from  Dublin  the  day  before,  containing  the 
new  gray  dress  in  which  she  was  to  be  married, 
roused  her  to  the  significance  of  the  hour.  With  a 
swift  movement  she  rose,  and  crossed  the  room  to 
the  window. 

The  view  across  the  bay  was  neutral  and  calm. 
Over  the  sea  to  the  east,  a  pale  and  silvery  sun  was 
emerging  from  a  film  of  mist,  while  on  the  water  itself 
a  white,  almost  spiritual,  radiance  lay  like  a  mystic 
veil.  Clodagh  took  one  long,  comprehensive  glance 
at  the  familiar  scene;  then,  as  if  afraid  to  trust  herself 
too  far,  she  turned  away  quickly  and  began  to  dress 
with  noiseless  haste. 

Twenty  minutes  later  she  crept  down-stairs  arrayed 
in  her  old  black  riding-habit. 

Where  she  rode  on  that  morning  of  her  marriage; 
what  strange  and  speculative  thoughts  burned  in  her 
brain;  and  what  secrets  —  regretful  or  anticipatory 
— she  whispered  into  Polly's  sensitive  ears,  no  one 
ever  knew!  At  half-past  eight  she  rode  into  the 
stable-yard,  slipped  from  the  saddle  unaided,  and 
threw  the  mare's  bridle  to  Burke. 

151 


THE    GAMBLER 

For  a  full  minute  she  stood  with  her  gloved  hand 
upon  the  neck  of  the  animal  that  had  carried  her  so 
often  and  so  well;  then,  with  a  sudden,  almost 
furtive,  movement,  she  bent  forward  and  pressed  her 
face  against  the  cropped  mane. 

"Take  care  of  her,  Tim,"  she  said,  unsteadily. 
"Take  care  of  her.  I'll  come  back  some  day,  you 
know." 

And  without  looking  at  the  old  man  she  turned  and 
walked  out  of  the  yard. 

She  met  no  one  on  her  way  to  the  house ;  but  as  she 
passed  across  the  hall  she  was  suddenly  arrested  by 
the  sight  of  Milbanke  descending  the  stairs,  already 
arrayed  in  a  conventional  frock-coat. 

Unconsciously  she  paused.  From  the  first  she  had 
vaguely  understood  that  he  would  discard  his  usual 
tweed  suit  on  the  day  of  the  wedding ;  but  the  actual 
sight  of  these  unfamiliar  clothes  came  as  a  shock, 
bringing  home  to  her  the  imminence  of  the  great 
event  as  nothing  else  could  possibly  have  done.  He 
looked  unusually  old,  thin,  and  precise  in  the  stiff, 
well-cut  garments,  a  circumstance  that  was  unkindly 
enhanced  by  the  fact  that  he  was  palpably  and  un- 
controllably nervous. 

There  was  a  moment  of  embarrassed  silence.  Then, 
mastering  her  emotions,  Clodagh  advanced  to  the 
foot  of  the  stairs,  holding  out  her  hand. 

He  responded  to  the  gesture  with  something  like 
gratitude. 

"You  have  been  out  early,"  he  said,  hurriedly. 
"  Have  you  been  taking  a  last  look  round  ?" 

Clodagh  nodded  and  turned  aside.  The  smart  of 
her  recent  farewell  still  burned  in  her  eyes  and  throat. 

He  saw  and  interpreted  the  action. 

"  Don't  take  it  to  heart,  my  dear!"  he  said,  quickly. 

152 


THE    GAMBLER 

"You  shall  return  whenever  you  like  And — and 
it  will  be  my  proud  privilet;e  to  know  that  you  will 
always  find  everything  in  readiness  for  you." 

Clodagh's  head  drooped. 

"  You  are  very  good,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  mechanical 
voice. 

For  a  space  Milbanke  made  no  response;  then  sud- 
denly his  fingers  tightened  nervously  over  the  hand 
he  was  still  holding. 

"Clodagh,"  he  said,  anxiously.  "You  do  not 
regret  anything  ?  You  know  it  is  not  too  late — even 
now." 

Clodagh  glanced  up,  and  for  one  instant  a  sudden 
light  leaped  into  her  eyes;  the  next  her  lashes  had 
drooped  again. 

"No,"  she  said.     "I  regret  nothing." 

Milbanke's  fingers  tightened  spasmodically. 

"God  bless  you!"  he  said,  tremulously.  And 
leaning  forward  suddenly,  he  pressed  his  thin  lips  to 
her  forehead. 

And  so  Clodagh's  last  boat  was  solemnly  burned. 

The  hours  that  followed  breakfast  and  saw  the 
departure  from  Orristown  were  too  filled  with  haste 
and  confusion  to  make  any  deep  impression  upon  her 
mind.  The  last  frenzied  packing  of  things  that  had 
been  overlooked;  the  innumerable  farewells,  all  more 
or  less  harassing;  the  scramble  to  be  dressed,  and 
the  entering  of  the  musty  old  barouche,  that  had  done 
duty  upon  great  occasions  in  the  Asshlin  family  for 
close  upon  half  a  century,  were  all  hopelessly — and 
mercifully — confused.  Even  the  drive  to  Carrigmore 
with  her  aunt  and  sister  filled  her  with  a  sense  of 
dazed  unreality.  She  sat  very  straight  and  stiff  in 
the  new  gray  dress,  one  hand  clasped  tenaciously 
round  Nance's  warm  fingers,  the  other  holding  the 

153 


THE    GAMBLER 

cold  and  unfamiliar  ivory  prayer-book  that  had  been 
one  of  Milbanke's  gifts.  It  was  only  when  at  last  the 
carriage  drew  up  before  the  little  church,  and  she 
passed  to  the  open  gateway  between  two  knots  of 
gaping  and  whispering  villagers,  that  she  realized  with 
any  vividness  the  inevitable  nature  of  the  moment. 
As  she  walked  up  the  narrow  path  to  the  church 
door,  she  turned  suddenly  to  her  little  sister. 

"Nance — "  she  said,  breathlessly. 

But  the  time  for  speech  had  passed.  As  Nance 
raised  a  bright,  excited  face  to  hers,  Mrs.  Asshlin 
hurried  after  them  across  the  grass,  and  together 
the  three  entered  the  church.  A  moment  later 
Clodagh  saw  with  a  faint  sense  of  perturbation  that 
the  building  was  not  empty.  In  a  shadowy  corner 
close  to  the  altar  rails  Milbanke  was  talking  in 
nervous  whispers  to  the  rector  who  was  to  perform 
the  ceremony. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  little  party  was  conducted 
up  the  aisle  with  the  usual  murmur  of  voices  and 
rustle  of  garments,  and  in  what  seemed  an  in- 
credibly— a  preposterously — short  space  of  time  the 
service  had  begun. 

During  the  first  portion  of  it,  Clodagh's  eyes  never 
left  the  brown,  clean-shaven,  benevolent  face  of  the 
rector.  Try  as  she  might,  she  could  not  realize  that 
the  serious  words,  pouring  forth  in  the  voice  that  a 
lifetime  had  rendered  familiar,  could  be  meant  for 
her  who,  until  the  day  of  her  father's  accident,  had 
never  personally  understood  that  life  held  any  serious 
responsibilities.  It  was  only  when  the  first  solemn 
question  was  put  to  her,  and,  startled  out  of  her 
dream,  she  responded  almost  inaudibly,  that  her 
eyes  turned  upon  Milbanke  standing  opposite  to  her 
— earnest,  agitated,  precise.     For  one  second  a  sense 


THE    GAMBLER 

of  panic  seized  her;  the  next  she  had  bUndly  extended 
her  left  hand  in  obedience  to  the  rector's  injunction, 
and  felt  the  chill  of  the  new  gold  ring  as  it  was  slipped 
over  her  third  finger. 

After  that  all-important  incident,  it  seemed  but  a 
moment  before  the  ceremony  was  over,  and  the  whole 
party  gathered  together  in  the  vestry.  With  a 
steady  hand  she  signed  her  name  in  the  register; 
then,  instantly  the  act  was  accomplished,  she  turn- 
ed instinctively  towards  the  spot  where  Nance  was 
standing. 

But  before  she  could  reach  her  sister's  side  she 
was  intercepted  by  Mrs.  Asshlin,  who  stepped  for- 
ward, half-tearful,  half-exultant,  and  embraced  her 
effusively. 

"My  dear  child! — my  dear,  dear  child!"  she  mur- 
mured, disjointedly.  "May  your  future  be  very 
happy!" 

Clodagh  submitted  silently  to  the  embrace;  then, 
as  her  aunt  reluctantly  withdrew  into  the  background, 
she  became  conscious  of  the  old  rector's  kindly 
presence.  Looking  closely  into  her  face,  he  took  her 
hand  in  both  his  own. 

"God  bless  you,  my  child,"  he  said,  simply.  "I 
did  not  preach  you  a  sermon  just  now,  because  I  do 
not  think  you  will  require  it.  You  are  a  dutiful 
child,  and  I  believe  that  you  have  found  a  very 
worthy  husband." 

At  the  word  husband  Clodagh  looked  up  quickly; 
then  her  eyes  dropped  to  her  wedding-ring. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  almost  inaudibly.  And  an 
instant  later  Milbanke  stepped  forward  deferentially 
and  offered  her  his  arm. 

In  silence  they  passed  down  the  aisle  of  the  church, 
in  the  centre  of  which  stood  the  old  stone  font  at 

155 


THE    GAMBLER 

which  Clodagh  had  been  christened,  and  on  which  she 
had  been  wont  to  fix  her  eyes  during  the  Sunday 
service  while  the  rector  preached.  All  at  once  this 
inanimate  friendly  object  seemed  to  take  a  new 
and  unfamiliar  air — seemed  to  whisper  that  Clodagh 
Asshlin  existed  no  more,  and  that  the  stranger  who 
filled  her  place  was  an  alien.  Her  fingers  tightened 
nervously  on  her  husband's  arm  and  her  steps  in- 
voluntarily quickened. 

Outside,  in  the  calm,  gray,  misty  atmosphere, 
they  lingered  for  a  moment  by  the  church  door,  in 
order  to  give  Nance  and  Mrs.  Asshlin  the  opportunity 
of  gaining  the  cottage  before  them;  but  both  were 
ill  at  ease,  self-conscious,  and  acutely  anxious  to 
curtail  the  enforced  solitude.  And  it  was  with  a 
sigh  of  relief  that  Clodagh  saw  Milbanke  draw  out  his 
watch  as  an  indication  that  they  might  start. 

About  the  gate  the  little  group  of  curious  idlers 
had  been  augmented.  And  as  Clodagh  stepped  to 
the  carriage  an  irrepressible  murmur  of  admiration 
passed  from  lip  to  lip,  succeeded  by  a  cold  and  critical 
silence  as  the  bridegroom — well-bred,  well-dressed, 
but  obviously  and  incongruously  old  —  followed  in 
her  wake. 

Clodagh  comprehended  and  construed  this  chilling 
silence  by  the  light  of  her  own  warm  appreciation  of 
things  young,  strong,  and  beautiful.  And  as  she 
stepped  hastily  into  the  waiting  carriage  a  flush  of 
something  like  shame  rose  hotly  to  her  face. 

Tlie  drive  to  the  cottage  scarcely  occupied  five 
minutes,  and,  even  had  they  desired  it,  there  was  no 
time  for  conversation.  Milbanke  sat  upright  and 
embarrassed;  Clodagh  lay  back  in  her  corner  of  the 
roomy  barouche,  her  eyes  fixed  resolutely  upon  the 
window,  her  fingers  tightly  clasping  the  ivory  prayer- 


THE    GAMBLER 

book.  One  fact  was  occupying  her  mind  with  a  sense 
of  anger  and  loneHness— the  fact  that  her  cousin 
Larry  had  not  been  present  in  the  church.  Since  the 
night  on  which  her  engagement  had  been  announced, 
the  feud  between  the  cousins  had  continued.  During 
the  weeks  of  preparation  for  the  wedding,  Larry  had 
avoided  Orristown;  but  though  no  overtures  had  been 
made,  Clodagh  had  never  doubted  that  he  would  be 
present  at  the  ceremony  itself.  And  now  that  the 
excitement  was  passed,  she  realized  with  a  shock  of 
surprise  that  she  had  been  openly  and  unmistakably 
deserted. 

The  thought  was  uppermost  in  her  mind  as  the 
carriage  stopped ;  and  when  her  aunt  came  forward  to 
greet  them  her  first  question  concerned  it. 

"  Where's  Larry,  Aunt  Fan  ?"  she  asked. 

"  My  dear  child,  that's  just  what  I  have  been  asking 
myself.     But  come  in!     Come  into  the  house!" 

Mrs.  Asshlin  was  flustered  by  the  responsibilities 
of  the  moment. 

"  Why  wasn't  he  in  church  ?"  Clodagh  asked  as  she 
followed  her  into  the  long,  narrow  hall. 

Mrs.  Asshlin  threw  out  her  hands  in  a  gesture  of 
perplexity. 

"How  can  I  tell?"  she  said.  "Boys  are  incom- 
prehensible things.  I'm  sure  er— James  is  not  old 
enough  to  have  forgotten  that?" 

She  glanced  archly  over  her  shoulder. 

Milbanke  looked  intensely  embarrassed,  and  Clo- 
dagh colored. 

"Well,  we'd  better  not  wait  for  Larry,"  she  inter- 
posed, hastily.  "You  know  what  a  time  it  takes  to 
get  round  to  Cloghal  with  that  big  barouche." 

Mrs.  Asshlin  became  all  assiduity. 

"Certainly!     Certainly,  my  dear  child!     Mr.  Curry 

157 


THE     GAMBLER 

and    his   brother   are    already    waiting.     Won't   you 
come  in?" 

With  hospitable  excitement  she  marshalled  them 
into  the  dining-room  and  seated  them  at  a  table 
spread  with  good  things. 

The  room  into  which  they  were  ushered,  though 
small,  was  bright  and  cheerful,  and,  notwithstanding 
the  season,  there  were  flowers  upon  the  table  and 
mantel-piece.  But  even  under  these  favorable  con- 
ditions the  lunch  was  scarcely  a  success.  Mrs. 
Asshlin  was  genuine  enough  in  her  efforts  at  enter- 
tainment; but  the  guests  were  not  in  a  condition  to 
be  entertained.  Milbanke  was  intensely  nervous; 
Clodagh  sat  straight  and  rigid  in  her  chair,  uncom- 
fortably conscious  of  insubordinate  emotions  that 
crowded  up  at  every  added  suggestion  of  departure. 
Even  the  rector's  brother — a  bluff  and  hearty  per- 
sonage, who,  out  of  old  friendship  for  the  Asshlin 
family,  had  consented  to  act  as  best  man  at  the 
hurriedly  arranged  wedding — felt  his  spirits  damped ; 
while  little  Nance,  who  sat  close  to  her  sister,  made  no 
pretence  whatever  at  hiding  the  tears  that  kept 
welling  into  her  eyes. 

It  was  with  universal  relief  that  at  length  they 
rose  from  the  table  and  filed  out  into  the  hall. 
There,  however,  a  new  interruption  awaited  them. 
In  the  shadow  of  a  doorway  they  caught  sight  of 
Hannah,  arrayed  in  her  Sunday  bonnet  and  shawl, 
and  still  breathless  from  the  walk  from  Orris- 
town. 

At  sight  of  the  little  party  she  came  forward  with  a 
certain  ungainly  shyness,  but,  catching  a  glimpse  of 
Clodagh,  love  conquered  every  lesser  feeling. 

"Let  me  have  wan  last  look  at  her!"  she  exclaimed, 
softly.     "That's  all  I'm  wantin'." 

158 


THE     GAMBLER 

And  as  Cloda^h  turned  impulsively  towards  her,  she 
held  out  her  arms. 

"Sure  I  knew  her  before  any  wan  of  ye  ever  sat 
eyes  on  her!"  she  explained,  the  tears  running  down 
her  cheeks.  Go  on  now,  miss — ma'am,"  she  added, 
brokenly,  pushing  Clodagh  forward  towards  the  door, 
and  turning  to  Milbanke  with  an  out-stretched  hand. 
"Good-bye,  sir!  And  God  bless  you!"  Her  soft, 
singsong  voice  fell  and  her  hard  hand  tightened  over 
his.  "Take  care  of  her,"  she  added.  "And  don't 
be  forgettin'  that  she's  nothin'  but  a  child  still,  for 
all  her  fine  height  and  her  good  looks." 

She  spoke  with  crude,  rough  earnestness,  but  at  the 
last  words  her  feelings  overcame  her.  With  another 
spasmodic  pressure,  she  released  his  fingers  and,  turn- 
ing incontinently,  disappeared  into  the  back  regions 
of  the  cottage. 

For  a  moment  Milbanke  remained  where  she  had 
left  him,  moved  and  yet  perplexed  by  her  hurried 
words;  then,  suddenly  remembering  his  duties,  he 
crossed  the  hall  and  punctiliously  offered  his  arm  to 
Clodagh. 

"The  carriage  is  waiting,"  he  said,  gently. 

But  Clodagh  shook  her  head. 

"Please  take  Nance  first,"  she  murmured,  in  a  low, 
constrained  voice. 

He  acquiesced  silently,  and  as  he  moved  away  from 
her  she  turned  to  Mrs.  Asshlin. 

"Good-bye,  Aunt  Fan!"  she  said.  "And  tell  Larry 
that  I'm — that  I'm  sorry.    He'll  know  what  it  means." 

Her  carefully  controlled  voice  shook  suddenly,  as 
pride  struggled  with  affection  and  association.  Sud- 
denly putting  her  arms  round  Mrs.  Asshlin's  neck  she 
kissed  her  thin  cheek,  and,  turning  quickly,  walked 
forward  to  the  waiting  carriage. 

159 


THE    GAMBLER 

There  was  a  moment  of  excitement,  a  spasmodic 
waving  of  handkerchiefs,  the  sound  of  a  stifled  sob  and 
the  tardy  throwing  of  a  shpper;  then,  with  a  swish  of 
the  long  driving-whip,  the  horses  bounded  forward, 
and  the  great,  lumbering  carriage  swung  down  the 
hill  that  led  to  the  Cloghal  road. 

As  they  bowled  through  the  village  street,  Clodagh 
shrank  back  into  her  corner,  refusing  to  look  her  last 
on  the  scene  that  for  nearly  eighteen  years  had  formed 
a  portion  of  her  life's  horizon.  The  instinctive 
clinging  to  familiar  things  that  forms  so  integral  a 
part  of  the  Celtic  nature,  was  swelling  in  her  throat 
and  tightening  about  her  heart.  She  resolutely  re- 
fused to  be  conquered  by  her  emotion;  but  the 
emotion — stronger  for  her  obstinate  suppression  of  it 
— bade  fair  to  dominate  her.  For  the  moment  she 
was  unconscious  of  Milbanke,  sitting  opposite  to  her 
anxious  and  deprecating,  and  she  dared  not  permit 
herself  to  press  the  small,  warm  fingers  that  Nance  had 
insinuated  into  her  own. 

With  a  lurch,  the  carriage  swept  round  the  curve 
of  the  street  and  emerged  upon  the  Cloghal  road. 
But  scarcely  had  Burke  gathered  the  reins  securely 
into  his  hands,  scarcely  had  the  horses  settled  into  a 
swinging  trot,  than  the  little  party  became  suddenly 
aware  that  a  check  had  been  placed  upon  their 
progress.  There  was  an  exclamation  from  Burke,  a 
clatter  of  hoofs  as  the  horses  were  hastily  pulled  up, 
and  the  barouche  came  to  a  halt. 

With  a  movement  of  surprise,  Clodagh  turned  to 
the  open  window.  But  on  the  instant  there  was  a 
scuffle  of  paws,  the  sharp),  eager  yap  of  a  dog,  and 
something  rough  and  warm  thrust  itself  against  her 
face. 

"  Mick!"  she  cried,  in  breathless, incredulous  rapture. 

i6o 


THE     GAMBLER 

Then  she  glanced  quickly  over  the  dog's  red  head  to 
the  hands  that  had  lifted  him  to  the  carriage  window. 

"Larry!"  she  said,  below  her  breath. 

Young  Asshlin  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
road — red,  shy,  and  excited. 

"  I  want  you  to  take  him,  Clo,"  he  said,  awkwardly, 
"for  a — for  a  wedding-jjresent." 

For  one  instant  Clodagh  sat  overwhelmed  by  the 
suggestion,  and  next  her  eyes  unconsciously  sought 
Milbanke's. 

"May  I?"  she  said,  hesitatingly.  It  was  her  first 
faltering  acknowledgment  that  her  actions  were  no 
longer  quite  her  own. 

Milbanke  started. 

"Oh,  assuredly,"  he  said.     "Assuredly." 

And  Clodagh  opened  the  carriage  door  and  took 
Mick  into  her  arms. 

For  one  moment  the  joy  of  reunion  submerged 
every  other  feeling ;  then  she  raised  a  glowing,  grateful 
face  to  her  cousin. 

"Larry — "  she  began,  softly. 

But  old  Burke  leaned  down  from  his  seat. 

"We'll  be  late  for  the  thrain,"  he  announced,  im- 
perturbably. 

Again  Milbanke  started  nervously. 

"Perhaps,  Clodagh — "  he  began. 

Clodagh  bent  her  head. 

"Shut  the  door,  Larry,"  she  said.  "  And — and  you 
were  a  darling  to  think  of  it!" 

Asshlin  closed  the  door. 

"Good-bye,  Nance!  Good-bye,  sir!  Good-bye, 
Clo!" 

He  looked  bravely  into  the  carriage,  but  his  face 
was  still  preternaturally  red. 

Clodagh  turned  to  him  impulsively. 
II  i6i 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Larry — "  she  began  again. 

But  the  horses  started  forward,  and  the  boy,  Hfting 
his  cap,  stepped  back  into  the  roadway. 

Clodagh  stooped  forward,  waved  her  hand  un- 
evenly, then  dropped  back  into  her  seat. 

While  the  horses  covered  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  she 
sat  without  movement  or  speech.  But  at  last,  lifting 
his  great,  adoring  eyes  to  her  face,  Mick  ventured  to 
touch  her  hand  with  a  warm,  reminding  tongue. 

The  gentle  appeal  of  the  action  —  the  hundred 
memories  it  evoked— was  instantaneous  and  supreme. 
In  a  sudden,  irrepressible  tide,  her  grief,  her  un- 
certainty of  the  future,  her  homesickness  inundated 
her  soul.  With  a  quick  gesture  she  flung  away  both 
pride  and  restraint,  and,  hiding  her  face  against  the 
dog's  rough  coat,  cried  as  if  she  had  been  a  child. 


XVII 

IT  was  nine  o'clock  on  a  morning  four  years  after 
the  wedding  at  Carrigmore;  the  season  was  late 
spring;  the  scene  was  Italy;  and  Florence — the  city 
of  tranquillity  made  manifest — lay  at  rest  under  its 
coverlet  of  sun  and  roses.  In  the  soft,  early  light 
the  massed  buildings  of  the  town  seemed  to  blend 
together  until,  to  the  dazzled  eyes,  the  Arno  looked 
a  mere  ribbon  of  silver  as  it  wound  under  its  bridges, 
and  the  splendid  proportions  of  the  Duomo  became 
lost  in  the  blue  haze  that  presaged  the  hot  day  to 
come. 

The  scene  was  vaguely  beautiful,  viewed  from  any 
of  the  hills  that  guard  the  city ;  but  from  no  point 
was  its  soft  picturesqueness  more  remarkable  than 
from  the  terraces  and  windows  of  a  villa  that  nestled 
in  a  curve  of  the  narrow,  winding  road  between  San 
Domenico  and  Fiesole.  This  villa,  unlike  its  neigh- 
bors, was  long  and  low  in  structure;  and  in  addition 
to  the  stone  urns,  luxurious  flowering  plants,  and  wide, 
painted  jalousies  common  to  Italian  houses,  it  boasted 
other  and  more  individual  attractions — to  be  found 
in  a  flight  of  singularly  old  and  picturesque  marble 
steps  that  led  from  one  level  of  its  garden  to  another, 
and  in  the  unusual  magnificence  of  the  cypresses  that 
grew  in  an  imposing  semicircle  upon  the  upper 
terrace. 

It  was  under  the  shade  of  these  sombre  trees  that 

163 


THE    GAMBLER 

a  breakfast-table  stood,  awaiting  occupation,  on  this 
particular  morning  at  the  hour  of  nine.  The  table 
in  itself  formed  a  picture,  for  in  the  warm  shafts  of 
sun  that  slipped  between  the  cypress-trees,  silver  and 
glass  gleamed  invitingly,  while  in  their  midst  an 
immense  Venetian  bowl  filled  with  roses  made  a 
patch  of  burning  color.  Everything  was  attractive, 
refined,  appetizing;  and  yet,  for  some  undiscernible 
reason,  the  inmates  of  the  villa  appeared  in  no  haste 
to  enjoy  the  meal  that  awaited  them. 

For  fully  ten  minutes  after  the  coffee  had  been  laid 
upon  the  table  the  Italian  man-servant,  whose  duty 
it  was  to  wait  at  breakfast,  stood  immovably  atten- 
tive, his  back  stiff,  his  glance  resting  expectantly 
upon  the  veranda;  then  his  natural  interest  in  the 
meal  caused  him  to  alter  his  position  and  cast  a 
sympathetic  eye  upon  the  coffee  in  imminent  danger 
of  growing  cold. 

Five  more  minutes  passed.  He  looked  again  at 
the  villa,  sighed,  and  gracefully  flicked  a  fly  from  the 
basket  of  crisp  rolls.  Then  suddenly  he  stood  newly 
erect  and  attentive  as  his  quick  ear  caught  the  swish 
of  a  skirt  and  the  sound  of  a  light  step.  A  moment 
later  Clodagh  emerged  upon  the  sunny  terrace,  fol- 
lowed by  her  dog  Mick. 

At  any  period  of  existence,  four  years  is  a  span 
of  time  to  be  reckoned  with.  But  when  four  years 
serves  to  bridge  the  gulf  between  childhood  and 
womanhood  its  power  is  wellnigh  limitless.  As 
Clodagh  Milbanke  stepped  through  the  long  window 
of  her  room  and  came  slowly  out  into  the  morning 
light,  it  would  have  been  a  close  observer  indeed  who 
would,  at  a  first  glance,  have  recognized  the  un- 
formed girl  of  four  years  ago  in  the  graceful,  welK 
dressed    woman    moving    so    sedately    through    the 

164 


THE    GAMBLER 

Italian  sunshine.  On  a  second  glance,  or  a  third,  one 
would  undoubtedly  have  seen  traces  of  the  long,  un- 
developed limbs  in  the  tall,  supple  figure;  caught  a 
suggestion  of  the  rough,  luxurious  plait  in  the  golden- 
brown  hair  coiled  about  the  well-shaped  head ;  and 
have  been  fascinated  by  numerous  undeniable  and 
hatmting  suggestions  in  contour  and  coloring.  But 
there  memory  would  have  hesitated.  The  Clodagh 
who  had  scoured  the  woods,  scrambled  over  the  rocks, 
and  galloped  across  the  lands  of  Orristown  was  no 
longer  visible.  Another  being,  infinitely  more  dis- 
tinguished, infinitely  more  attractive — and  yet  vague- 
ly deprived  of  some  essential  quality— had  taken  her 
place.  In  the  four  years  that  had  passed  since  she 
left  Ireland  she  had,  from  being  a  child,  become  a 
woman,  and  below  the  new  beauty  that  nature  had 
painted  upon  her  face  lay  an  intangible,  a  poignantly 
suggested  regret  for  the  girlhood  that  had  been 
denied  her. 

As  she  stepped  out  upon  the  terrace  she  paused  for 
a  moment,  and  her  eyes  travelled  mechanically  over 
Florence — warm,  beautiful,  inert.  Then,  with  the 
same  uninterested  calm,  she  turned  slowly  towards 
the  breakfast  -  table ;  but  there  her  glance  bright- 
ened. 

"Oh,  letters!"  she  said,  aloud,  and  with  an  im- 
pulsive movement  she  hurried  forward,  letting  her 
elaborate  muslin  dress  trail  unheeded  behind  her. 

Scarcely  seeing  the  profound  bow  with  which  the 
man-servant  greeted  her,  she  picked  up  the  letters 
and  scanned  them  one  by  one.  Then,  as  she  dis- 
appointedly threw  the  last  back  upon  the  table,  she 
half  turned  in  acknowledgment  of  a  measured  step 
that  came  across  the  terrace  from  the  direction  of  the 
house.     At  the  same  moment  Mick  pricked  up  his 

i6c 


THE    GAMBLER 

ears  and  slowly  wagged  his  tail,  while  the  Italian 
servant  bent  his  body  in  a  fresh  salutation. 

Milbanke — for  his  was  the  second  step  that  had 
disturbed  the  silence — came  forward  without  haste. 
Reaching  the  table,  he  took  Clodagh's  left  hand  and 
pressed  it;  then  he  stooped  methodically  and  patted 
the  dog's  head. 

"Good-morning!"  he  said,  gravely.  "Are  there  any 
letters?" 

"Yes;  four,  and  all  for  you — as  usual." 

He  smiled,  unobservant  of  the  slightly  tired  irri- 
tability of  Clodagh's  tone. 

"Ah, .  indeed!"  he  said.  "That  is  pleasant.  Is 
there  one  from  Sicily.''  Scarpio  promised  to  let  me 
have  the  latest  details  of  the  great  work." 

He  took  up  the  four  letters  and  carefully  studied 
the  envelopes.  As  he  came  to  the  last  his  thin  face 
became  animated. 

"Ah,  this  is  satisfactory!"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
knew  he  would  not  fail  me.  What  wonderful— what 
fascinating  work  it  must  be!" 

He  tore  the  envelope  oj^en  and  began  to  peruse  the 
letter. 

While  he  scanned  the  opening  lines,  Clodagh 
watched  him  absently;  but  as  the  first  page  fluttered 
between  his  fingers  she  gave  a  slight,  involuntary 
shrug  of  the  shoulders,  and,  moving  round  the  table, 
sank  into  the  seat  that  the  servant  drew  forward 
for  her.  Then,  with  an  uninterested  gesture,  she 
poured  out  two  cups  of  coffee. 

For  a  while  there  was  silence  save  for  the  turning 
of  the  letter  in  its  recipient's  hand,  the  occasional 
snap  of  Mick's  teeth  as  he  attempted  to  catch  a 
fly,  and  the  thousand  impersonal  sounds  of  lazy 
out-door  life  that  rose    about  them.      At  last  Mil- 

i66 


THE     GAMBLER 

banke  looked  up,  his  face  tinged  witli  mild  excite- 
ment. 

"This  discovery  is  very  remarkable,"  he  said, 
"Sicily  will  obtain  a  new  importance." 

Clodagh  smiled  faintly. 

"In  the  antiquarian's  eyes,"  she  said,  with  un- 
conscious irony.  There  was  no  bitterness  and  no 
impatience  in  her  voice.  She  spoke  as  if  stating 
a  fact  that  long  familiarity  had  rendered  absolutely 
barren. 

Looking  back  over  the  four  years  of  her  marriage, 
it  seemed  to  her  that  life  had  been  one  round  of 
archaeological  discovering — all  timed  to  take  place  at 
the  wrong  season.  She  vividly  remembered  the  first 
of  these  events — the  discovery  of  some  subterranean 
passages  in  the  neighborhood  of  Carrara,  which 
had  taken  place  two  months  after  their  arrival  in 
Italy,  while  life  yet  retained  something  of  the  dark, 
vague  semblance  usually  associated  with  a  nightmare. 
Still  desperately  homesick  and  unreasonably  miser- 
able in  her  new  position,  she  had  eagerly  grasped  at 
Milbanke's  suggestion  that  they  should  visit  the 
scene  of  these  excavations.  But  with  this  first  essay 
her  interest  in  discoveries  had  taken  permanent 
flight. 

The  heat  had  been  tremendous,  the  country  parched 
and  imsympathetic,  the  associations  terribly  un- 
congenial. She  remembered  the  first  morning  when 
she  and  Nance,  stifling  in  their  black  dresses,  had  by 
tacit  consent  stolen  away  from  the  party  of  fellow- 
enthusiasts  to  which  Milbanke  had  attached  himself, 
and,  climbing  to  the  summit  of  a  low,  olive-crowned 
hill,  had  sat,  tired,  silent,  and  unutterably  wretched, 
looking  out  upon  the  arid  land. 

But  that  excursion  had  been  the  prelude  to  a  new 

167 


THE    GAMBLER 

era.  Visits  to  various  antiquities  had  succeeded  each 
other  with  dull  regularity,  broken  by  long,  unevent- 
ful sojourns  in  the  green  seclusion  of  the  villa  at 
Florence.  Then  the  first  break  had  occurred  in  the 
companionship  of  the  trio.  Nance  had  been  sent 
home  to  an  English  school. 

Clodagh's  acceptance  of  this  fiat  had  been  curiously 
interesting — as  had  been  her  whole  attitude  towards 
Milbanke  and  his  wishes.  From  the  day  on  which 
she  recognized  that  the  state  of  matrimony  was 
something  irrevocably  serious,  she  had  taken  upon 
herself  an  attitude  of  reserved  surrender  that  was 
difficult  to  analyze  —  difficult  even  to  superficially 
understand.  By  a  strangely  immature  process  of 
deduction,  she  had  satisfied  herself  that  marriage 
was  a  state  of  bondage — more  or  less  distasteful  as 
chance  decreed.  A  state  in  which,  by  a  fundamental 
law  of  nature,  submission  and  self-repression  were 
the  chief  factors  necessary  upon  the  woman's  side. 

As  sometimes  happens  when  there  is  a  great  dis- 
parity in  years,  the  wedded  state  had  widened  instead 
of  lessening  the  gulf  between  Milbanke  and  herself. 
It  had  cast  a  sudden,  awkward  restraint  upon  the 
affection  and  respect  that  his  actions  had  kindled 
in  her  mind,  while  inspiring  no  new  or  ardent  feelings 
to  take  its  place.  Ridiculously — and  yet  naturally — 
her  husband  had  become  an  infinitely  more  distant 
and  unapproachable  being  than  her  father's  friend 
had  been.  And  to  this  new  key  she  had,  perforce, 
attuned  her  existence. 

With  a  greater  number  of  years — even  with  a  little 
more  worldly  experience — she  might  have  made  a 
vastly  different  business  of  her  life;  for,  at  the  time 
of  his  marriage,  Milbanke  had  been  hovering  upon 
the  borderland  of  that  fatuous  love  in  which  an  old 

1 68 


THE    GAMBLER 

man  can  lose  himself  so  completely.  If,  in  those 
first  months,  she  had  permitted  any  of  the  ardor,  any 
of  the  fascination  of  her  nature  to  shine  upon  him, 
she  might  have  led  him  by  a  silken  thread  in  what- 
ever direction  she  pleased.  But  three  factors  had 
precluded  this — her  youth,  her  inexperience,  her  en- 
tire ignorance  of  artifice.  In  her  primary  encounter 
with  the  realities  of  life  she  had  lost  her  strongest 
weapon — her  frank,  unswerving  fearlessness — and  in 
lieu  of  this  she  had,  in  the  moment  of  first  panic, 
seized  upon  the  nearest  substitute,  and  had  wrapped 
herself  in  an  armor  of  cold,  impregnable  reserve. 

And  before  this  armor  the  weapons  of  Milbaruke's 
love  had  been  turned  aside.  There  had  been  no 
scenes,  no  harassing  disillusionment;  but  gradually, 
inevitably  his  original  attitude  with  regard  to  her — 
his  shy  reticence,  his  uncertainty,  as  in  the  presence 
of  some  incomprehensible  quality  —  had  returned. 
He  had  slowly  but  surely  withdrawn  into  himself, 
turning  with  a  groping,  pathetic  eagerness  to  the 
interests  that  had  previously  usurped  his  thoughts. 
With  the  nervous  sensitiveness  that  warred  continu- 
ously with  his  matter-of-fact  precision,  he  became  un- 
comfortably conscious  of  occupying  a  false  position, 
of  having  made  an  indisputable  —  almost  a  ridicu- 
lous— mistake ;  and  he  had  taken  a  blind  leap  towards 
the  quarter  in  which  he  believed  compensation  to 
lie.  And  Clodagh,  vaguely  divining  this  —  vaguely 
remorseful,  of  what  she  scarcely  knew  —  had  held 
her  own  enthusiasms  more  rigidly  in  check,  schooling 
herself  into  acquiescence  with  every  impersonal  sug- 
gestion that  he  chose  to  make. 

From  this  had  arisen  the  pursuit  of  the  antique 
in  whatever  corner  of  Europe  —  and  at  whatever 
season  of  the  year — circumstances  might  decree.    To 

169 


THE    GAMBLER 

Clodagh  the  pilgrimages  had  seemed  unutterably- 
wearisome  and  imutterably  foolish;  but  there  is  a 
great  capacity  for  silent  endurance  in  the  Irish 
nature.  Quick-blooded  though  it  may  be,  it  possesses 
that  strong  fatahstic  instinct  that  accepts  without 
question  the  decree  of  the  gods.  The  spirit  of  revolt 
is  not  lacking  in  it ;  but  it  requires  a  given  atmosphere 
— a  given  sequence  of  events — to  bring  it  into  ac- 
tivity. At  two-and-twenty  Clodagh  was  weary  of 
her  husband,  of  herself,  of  her  hfe.  But  precisely  as 
her  father  had  fretted  out  his  existence  in  the  quiet 
monotony  of  Orristown,  she  had  accepted  her  fate 
without  thought  of  question. 

In  the  second  year,  when  they  had  travelled  to 
England  with  Nance,  Milbanke  had  suggested  a 
visit  to  Ireland,  but  this  proposal  she  had  declined. 
The  days  when  every  fibre  of  her  being  had  yearned 
for  her  own  country  were  past,  and  the  idea  of  re- 
turn had  lost  its  savor. 

As  she  sat  now  sipping  her  coffee,  and  gazing  ab- 
stractedly down  to  where  the  hot  sun  glinted  on  the 
Arno,  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  life — the  glorious, 
exuberant  state  that  she  had  been  accustomed  to  call 
her  life — had  drifted  incredibly  far  away;  that  it  lay 
asleep,  if  not  already  dead,  in  some  intangible  realm 
widely  beyond  her  reach.  She  thought  of  Nance 
away  at  her  English  school,  and  unconsciously  she 
envied  her.  To  be  fifteen,  and  to  be  surrounded 
by  young  people!  Involuntarily  she  sighed;  and 
Mick,  ever  acutely  sensitive  to  her  change  of 
mood,  turned  and  pressed  his  cold  nose  against  her 
knee. 

Mechanically  she  put  down  her  hand  and  pulled  one 
of  his  soft  ears;  then  suddenly  she  raised  her  head, 
attracted  by  an  exclamation  of  impatience  in   Mil- 

170 


THE    GAMBLER 

banke's  usually  placid  voice.  Looking  up,  she  saw 
that  he  had  opened  a  second  letter. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  her  momentary  curiosity 
dropping  back  to  indifference.  "  Was  that  last 
intaglio  unauthentic,  after  all  ?" 

Milbanke  glanced  up  with  an  annoyed  expression. 

"This  does  not  concern  the  intaglio,"  he  said. 
"This  is  from  Barnard  —  David  Barnard,  the  friend 
who  acts  as  my  broker  and  looks  after  my  business 
affairs.     You  have  heard  me  speak  of  him." 

"Of  course.  Often."  An  expression  of  interest 
awakened  in  Clodagh's  face. 

"  Well,  this  letter  is  from  him — written  from  Milan. 
Most  tiresome  and  annoying  its  coming  at  this  junct- 
ure!" He  scanned  the  letter  for  the  second  time. 
"I  particularly  want  to  run  down  into  Sicily  before 
Scarpio  leaves." 

"And  does  the  letter  prevent  you?"  There  was 
interest  and  a  slight  hopefulness  in  the  tone  of  Clo- 
dagh's voice. 

"I — I  am  very  much  afraid  that  it  does." 

"But  why?" 

He  folded  the  letter  carefully  and  returned  it  to  the 
envelope. 

"Because  Barnard  is  coming  to  Venice  in  two 
days  and  suggests  that  I  should  meet  him  there." 

"Venice!"     Clodagh  said  the  word  softly. 

"Yes.  Most  tiresome!  Most  annoying!  But  he 
thinks  it  an  opportunity  that  should  not  be  lost.  1 
have  not  had  an  interview  with  him  since  the 
occasion  upon  which  we  left  Nance  at  school.  He 
came  then  to  our  hotel  in  London;  I  do  not  think 
you  met  him." 

"No;  but  I  remember  his  coming  to  see  you.  T 
remember  Nance  and  1  thought  he  had  such  a  jolly 

171 


THE    GAMBLER 

laugh;  we  heard  it  from  her  bedroom — the  one  that 
opened  off  our  sitting-room." 

With  the  mention  of  this  new  subject,  trivial 
though  it  was,  Clodagh's  manner  had  changed. 

"But  what  about  Venice?"  she  asked,  after  a 
moment's  pause.     "Will  you  go?" 

Milbanke  looked  thoughtful. 

"Well,  I — I  scarcely  know  what  to  say.  Of  course 
I  could  refuse  on  the  grotmd  of  this  business  in 
Sicily.  But  it  is  a  question  of  expediency.  A  few 
days  with  Barnard  now  may  save  me  a  journey  to 
London  next  year.     Still,  it  is  very  provoking!" 

"But  Venice!"  Clodagh  suggested,  and  again  her 
tone  was  soft.  More  than  any  other  in  Italy,  the 
beautiful  city  of  the  Adriatic  had  appealed  to  her 
curiosity  and  her  imagination.  With  a  quick  glance 
her  eyes  travelled  over  the  sheltered,  drowsy  garden, 
sloping  downward,  terrace  below  terrace. 

"I  should  love  to  see  Venice,"  she  said,  suddenly. 
"I  always  picture  it  so  wide  and  silent  and  mys- 
terious." 

Milbanke  looked  up  from  the  opening  of  his  third 
letter. 

"Venice  is  imhealthy,"  he  said,  prosaically. 

For  one  moment  her  lip  curled. 

"Perhaps  that  is  why  it  appeals  to  me,"  she  said, 
with  a  flash  of  the  old,  insubordinate  spirit.  Then 
suddenly  her  eyes  met  her  husband's  quiet,  puzzled 
gaze  and  the  passing  light  died  out  of  her  face. 
With  a  hasty  gesture  she  lifted  her  coffee-cup  to  her 
lips  and  set  it  down  empty. 

"Come  along,  Mick!"  she  said,  pushing  back  her 
chair  and  speaking  with  unconscious  sarcasm.  "  Come 
and  let  us  see  whether  we  can  find  any  roses  in  the 
garden!" 

172 


XVIII 

CLODAGH'S  manner  was  careless  and  her  gait 
nonchalant  as  she  rose  from  table  and  crossed 
the  terrace  followed  by  her  dog;  but  inwardly  she 
burned  with  a  newly  kindled  sense  of  anticipation. 
There  was  no  particular  reason  why  the  idea  of  a 
journey  to  Venice,  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  a  stock- 
broker— even  though  that  stock-broker  was  a  per- 
sonal friend  of  Milbanke's — should  be  instinct  with 
any  promise;  yet  the  idea  excited  her.  With  the 
exception  of  the  journey  to  England  with  Nance,  it 
was  the  first  time  in  four  years  that  her  husband  had 
seriously  contemplated  any  move  not  ostensibly  con- 
nected with  his  hobby.  And  the  thought  of  Venice, 
the  suggestion  of  encountering  any  one  whose  in- 
terests lay  outside  antiquities,  had  the  power  to  elate 
her.  As  she  left  the  breakfast  -  table  her  steps  un- 
consciously quickened;  and  Mick,  attentively  sensi- 
tive to  her  altered  gait,  wagged  his  short  tail,  gave 
one  sharp,  incisive  bark  of  question,  and  looked  up 
at  her  with  ears  inquisitively  pricked. 

She  paused  and  looked  down  at  him. 

"  Mick,  darling,"  she  whispered.  "  Imagine  Venice 
at  night — the  music  and  the  water  and  the  romance! 
And  just  think" — her  voice  dropped  still  lower — 
"just  think  what  it  would  be  to  meet  some  one — 
any  one  at  all — who  might  happen  to  notice  that 
one's  clothes  were  new  and  that  one's  hair  was 
properly  done  up!" 

173 


THE    GAMBLER 

She  bent  down. in  a  sudden  impulse  of  excitement 
and  kissed  his  upraised  head;  then,  with  a  quick 
laugh  at  her  own  impetuosity,  she  turned  and  ran 
down  the  first  flight  of  time-worn  marble  steps. 

That  was  her  private  and  personal  reception  of  the 
news.  Later,  returning  with  her  arms  full  of  the 
roses  that  ran  riot  in  the  garden,  she  was  able  to  meet 
Milbanke  with  a  demeanor  of  dignified  calm,  and 
to  answer  his  questions  as  to  whether  her  boxes 
could  be  packed  in  two  days  in  a  voice  that  was 
dutifully  submissive  and  unmoved. 

But  the  two  days  of  preparation  were  imbued  with 
a  secret  joy.  There  was  a  new  and  unending  delight 
in  selecting  the  most  beautiful  of  the  dresses  in  her 
elaborate  wardrobe,  and  in  feeling  that  at  last  they 
were  to  be  seen  by  eyes  that  would  understand  their 
value.  For  Milbanke,  while  never  restraining  her 
craving  for  costly  clothes,  had,  since  the  day  of  their 
marriage,  been  totally  unobservant  and  indifferent 
as  to  whether  she  wore  silk  or  homespun ;  and  on  the 
occasions  when  outside  opinions  might  have  been 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  matter  —  namely,  the 
moments  when  the  archaeological  excursions  were 
undertaken — necessities  of  season  or  expediency  had 
invariably  limited  her  supply  of  garments  to  the 
clothes  that  would  not  show  the  dust  or  the  clothes 
that  would  keep  out  the  rain.  But  now  the  prospect 
was  different.  It  was  still  the  season  in  Venice; 
she  would  be  justified  in  bringing  the  best  and  most 
attractive  clothes  she  possessed.  The  thought  was 
exhilarating;  life  became  a  thing  of  bustle  and  in- 
terest. Two  and  three  times  a  day  she  drove  into 
Florence  to  make  totally  unnecessary  purchases;  she 
wrote  more  than  one  long  letter  to  Nance;  and  in- 
dulged in  many  a  protracted  and  confidential  talk 

174 


THE    GAMBLER 

with  Mick  as  they  sat  together  on  the  edge  of  the  old 
marble  fountain  that  dripped  and  dozed  in  the  sun. 

By  a  hundred  actions,  obvious  or  obscure,  she 
made  it  plain  in  those  days  of  preparation  that, 
despite  the  fact  that  her  childhood  lay  behind  her, 
and  that  she  had  known  none  of  the  intermediate 
pleasures  of  ordinary  girlhood,  she  was  a  woman 
whose  heart,  whose  capacity  for  enjoyment,  whose 
comprehension  of  life  was  extraordinarily  —  even 
dangerously — young. 

At  last  the  day  dawned  upon  which  they  left  the 
villa  on  the  sunny  hill — said  good-bye  to  the  wide, 
slow  river,  the  riotous  roses,  and  the  slow -tolling 
bells  of  Florence — and  took  train  for  the  north. 

Through  the  hours  of  that  railway  journey  Clo- 
dagh  sat  almost  silent.  To  her  eager  mind,  already 
springing  forward  towards  the  enchanted  city,  there 
was  no  need  for  speech;  and  the  quiet,  prim  hus- 
band seated  opposite  to  her  made  no  call  upon  her 
imagination.  He  was  essential  to  the  journey — as 
the  padded  cushion  behind  her  head  or  the  English 
books  and  magazines  by  her  side  were  essential  to  it 
— and  for  this  reason  he  occupied  that  most  fatal  of 
all  positions,  the  position  of  an  accepted,  familiar 
accessory.  The  early  days  of  their  marriage,  when 
in  her  eyes  he  had  taken  on  a  new  and  dreaded 
aspect,  were  entirely  past.  With  his  supersensi- 
tiveness  and  constitutional  self  -  distrust,  he  had 
withdrawn  somewhat  hastily  from  the  position  of 
lover  to  shelter  behind  the  cloak  of  his  former 
guardianship.  And  Clodagh  had  hailed  the  change 
of  attitude  with  obvious  relief. 

Now,  as  she  sat  eagerly  alert  to  gain  her  first 
glimpse  of  Venice,  she  had  almost  forgotten  that 
those  early  days  had  ever  existed.     For  the  moment 

175 


THE    GAMBLER 

Milbanke  was  a  cipher,  and  she  an  ardent,  apprecia- 
tive individual  undergoing  a  new  sensation. 

Such  was  her  precise  mental  position  when  at  last 
the  scene  for  which  she  waited  broke  upon  her  view. 
Rising  straight  out  of  the  water,  Venice  seemed  to 
her  ardent  eyes  even  more  the  product  of  a  visionary 
world  than  her  dreams  had  made  it.  The  hour  was 
seven,  and  from  the  many  spires  and  domes  of  the 
city  warm  gleams  of  bronze  or  gold  shot  forth  at  the 
touch  of  the  setting  sun.  But  the  prevailing  note 
of  color  that  gleamed  through  the  mauve  twilight 
was  white — the  wonderful,  semitransparent  white  of 
ancient  marble  backgrounded  by  sea  and  sky. 

The  effect  made  upon  Clodagh's  mind  by  this 
white  city  wrapped  in  its  evening  veil  was  instanta- 
neous and  deep.  With  the  exception  of  Florence, 
her  knowledge  of  the  beauties  of  Italy  was  very  lim- 
ited; and  her  first  glimpse  of  Florence  had  been 
gained  under  such  unpropitious  circumstances  that 
its  sheltered  loveliness  had  never  subsequently  ap- 
pealed to  her  as  it  might  otherwise  have  done. 
Now,  however,  her  condition  of  mind  was  tranquil, 
if  not  happy;  and  as  the  train  sped  forward  she 
gazed  spellbound  at  this  beauty  at  once  so  tangible 
and  so  unreal. 

To  every  traveller  it  must  come  with  the  sense  of 
desecration  that  this  most  magical  of  cities  is  ap- 
proached by  nothing  less  prosaic  than  an  ordinary 
railway  terminus.  And  Clodagh  gave  a  little  invol- 
untary gasp  of  disappointment  as  the  train  swerved 
suddenly,  exchanging  the  glamour  of  the  outer  world 
for  a  noisy  station  that  might  have  belonged  to  any 
town;  and  as  she  rose  from  her  seat,  arranged  her 
hat,  and  collected  her  books,  she  wondered  for  one 
moment  whether  the   vision  just  hidden  from   her 

176 


THE     GAMBLER 

view  was  in  reality  the  handiwork  of  man  and  not 
some  mirage  conjured  up  by  her  own  imagination. 
So  strong  was  the  feeHng  that  she  remained  silent 
as  she  descended  from  the  train,  and  waited  while 
Milbanke  saw  to  the  collecting  of  the  luggage;  then, 
still  without  speaking,  she  followed  him  down  the 
flight  of  steps  that  led  to  the  water.  But  there,  as 
the  prosaic  station  vanished  from  consideration, 
and  Venice  broke  once  more  upon  her  view,  her  emo- 
tions dominated  her.  With  a  quick,  unconscious 
gesture  she  laid  her  hand  on  her  husband's  arm. 

"Oh,  isn't  it  wonderful?"  she  said,  in  a  hushed 
voice. 

Milbanke  turned  to  her  uncertainly. 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  he  said,  absently.  "Yes.  But—" 
He  sniffed  critically.  "But  do  you  not  detect  a 
distinctly  unhealthy  odor?" 

Clodagh's  hand  dropped  suddenly  and  expressively 
to  her  side,  and  she  wheeled  round  with  unnecessary 
haste  towards  the  gondola  into  which  the  luggage 
was  being  piled. 

But  even  this  jarring  incident  could  not  mar  that 
first  journey  in  the  stately  black  boat.  Every  por- 
tion of  the  way  was  instinct  with  its  own  especial 
charm.  From  the  wide  dignity  of  the  Grand  Canal, 
with  its  ancient  palaces,  its  mysterious  stream  of 
silent  traffic,  its  occasional  note  of  brilliant  modern 
life,  to  the  fascinating  glimpses  of  narrower  water- 
ways where  the  women  of  the  people,  with  uncovered 
heads  and  cigarettes  between  their  lips,  leaned  out 
of  their  windows  to  exchange  the  day's  gossip  with  a 
neighbor  across  the  water;  all  was  a  delight — some- 
thing engrossing  and  unique.  Clodagh  had  no  desire 
to  speak  as  they  glided  forward ;  and  when  the  hotel 
steps  were  reached  she  suffered  herself  to  be  assisted 

177 


THE    GAMBLER 

from  the  gondola  scarcely  certain  whether  she  was 
dreaming  or  awake. 

Outside  the  hotel  half  a  dozen  visitors  were  seated 
upon  the  small  stone  terrace,  indolently  watching 
the  arrival  of  new  guests;  but  so  absorbed  was  Clo- 
dagh  in  the  scene  before  her  that  she  scarcely  ob- 
served the  presence  of  these  people.  And  when  Mil- 
banke,  murmuring  an  excuse,  departed  to  see  after 
their  rooms,  she  turned  again  towards  the  canal  that 
she  had  just  left,  and,  leaning  over  the  balustrade 
of  the  terrace,  paused  for  a  moment  to  study  the 
picture  afresh. 

But  as  she  stood  there,  unconscious  of  everything 
but  the  wonderful,  noiseless  pageant  passing  ceaseless- 
ly through  the  purple  twilight,  more  than  one  glance 
strayed  in  her  own  direction.  And  two  at  least 
among  the  hotel  visitors  changed  their  lounging 
attitudes  for  the  purpose  of  observing  her  more 
closely. 

The  two  —  both  men  —  were  simultaneously  and 
noticeably  attracted.  The  elder,  who  by  his  ex- 
tremely fastidious  and  studied  appearance  might 
almost  have  belonged  to  another  and  earlier  era  than 
our  own,  was  a  man  of  nearly  seventy  years  old ;  the 
younger  was  his  junior  by  forty-five  years.  But — 
so  levelling  a  thing  is  spontaneous  admiration — the 
expression  upon  the  two  faces,  as  they  leaned  sud- 
denly forward,  was  strikingly  similar. 

The  old  man  held  a  gold-rimmed  eye-glass  close  to 
his  eye;  the  younger  meditatively  removed  his  cigar- 
ette from  his  mouth.  But  at  this  critical  moment 
of  their  close  observation,  Milbanke  reappeared  and, 
moving  stiffly  across  the  terrace,  touched  Clodagh's 
arm. 

"  Mv  dear,"  he  said,  "  our  rooms  are  ready.     If  you 

178 


THE    GAMBLER 

go  up-stairs,  I  will  find  Barnard.     1  will  not  dress  for 
dinner  to-night.     It  is  after  seven  o'clock." 

Clodagh  turned,  her  face  glowing  with  the  en- 
thusiasm that  filled  her  mind. 

"  All  right,"  she  said.  "  But  I  think  I'll  just  change 
into  something  cool.      It  won't  take  me  ten  minutes." 

Without  waiting  for  his  assent,  she  turned  quickly 
and  walked  across  the  terrace  to  the  vestibule  of  the 
hotel. 

As  she  passed  the  two  men  in  the  lounge-chairs, 
the  elder  again  lifted  his  eye-glass;  while  the  younger, 
leaning  forward,  stared  at  her  with  that  superb  lack 
of  embarrassment  or  reserve  that  the  young  English- 
man can  at  times  assume. 

"By  Jove!"  he  said,  very  softly,  as  the  two  new 
arrivals  disappeared  into  the  hotel. 

His  companion  turned  to  him  with  a  thin,  some- 
what shaky  laugh  that  belied  his  carefully  preserved 
appearance. 

"Attractive,  eh?"  he  said. 

The  other  replaced  his  cigarette  in  his  mouth. 

"What  nationality  is  she?"  he  asked,  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause.  "I'd  feel  inclined  to  say  Italian  my- 
self, but  the  old  father's  so  uncompromisingly  Saxon." 

Again  the  older  man  laughed — a  laugh  that  ex- 
pressed unfathomable  worldly  wisdom. 

"Father!"  he  said,  satirically.  "Fathers  don't 
shuflfle  round  their  womenfolk  like  that.  They  are 
husband  and  wife." 

"Husband  and  wife!"  The  other  smiled.  But 
the  older  man  pursed  up  his  lips. 

"You'll  find  I'm  right,"  he  said.  "She  walked 
three  steps  ahead  of  him,  to  avoid  seeing  him — and 
she  did  it  unconsciously.     Proof  conclusive!" 

The  young  man  laughed. 

179 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Doesn't  carry  conviction,  uncle,"  he  said.  "I'll 
bet  you  a  fiver  you're  wrong.  Will  you  take  me 
on?" 

His  companion  smiled  langtddly. 

"As  you  like,"  he  responded. 

The  young  man  nodded ;  then  he  looked  down  lazily 
at  his  flannel  suit. 

"I  suppose  it's  time  to  change,"  he  said,  reluctant- 
ly. "Awful  bore  being  conventional  abroad.  See 
you  at  dinner." 

With  another  careless  nod  he  lounged  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  hall. 

Exactly  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Clodagh  emerged 
from  her  bedroom,  looking  fresh  and  cool  in  a  dress  of 
rose-colored  gauze  that,  though  cut  high  in  the  neck 
and  possessing  sleeves  that  reached  the  wrist,  was 
yet  very  light  and  diaphanous  in  effect.  She  opened 
her  door,  and,  mindful  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour, 
moved  quickly  out  into  the  corridor.  But  scarcely 
had  she  taken  a  step  in  the  direction  of  the  stairs 
than  a  door  exactly  opposite  to  her  own  was  opened 
with  equal  haste,  and  the  young  Englishman  of  the 
terrace  appeared  before  her.  Seeing  her,  he  halted 
involuntarily,  and  for  a  second  their  eyes  met. 

The  glance  was  momentary;  there  was  not  a  word 
spoken;  but  irresistibly  the  color  rushed  into  Clo- 
dagh's  face.  It  took  her  but  an  instant  to  regain  her 
composure  and  to  pass  down  the  empty  corridor 
with  an  added  touch  of  hauteur;  but  long  after  she 
had  gained  the  stairs  her  heart  was  beating  with  a 
new  excitement.  The  glance  that  the  stranger  had 
given  her  had  been  almost  ill-bred  in  its  absolute 
directness;  but  ill  or  well  bred,  there  had  been  no 
mistaking  the  unqualified  admiration  it  conveyed. 
The  personality  of  the  man  had  escaped  her  atten- 

i8o 


THE    GAMBLER 

tion ;  the  fact  that  his  hair  was  smooth,  his  face  at- 
tractive, and  his  figure  unusually  tall,  slight,  and 
graceful  had  made  no  impression  upon  her.  All  she 
was  conscious  of — all  that  set  her  pulses  throbbing 
and  her  cheeks  flushing — was  the  suddenly  awakened 
knowledge  that,  within  herself,  she  possessed  some 
sul)tle  and  previously  unrealized  power  that  could 
compel  a  man's  regard. 

She  descended  the  stairs  with  a  new  sensation  of 
elasticity  and  elation,  and  at  its  foot  found  Milbanke 
awaiting  her,  in  conversation  with  a  suave,  elderly 
man. 

As  she  came  within  speaking  distance  the  two 
turned  towards  her. 

"My  dear,"  Milbanke  said,  quickly,  "allow  me  to 
introduce  Mr.  David  Barnard.  David,  this  is  my — 
my  wife." 

Clodagh  looked  up  curiously,  and  met  the  florid 
face,  bland  smile,  and  observant  eyes  of  Barnard — a 
man  who  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  century  had  man- 
aged to  prosper  in  his  profession,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  retain  a  prominent  place  in  fashionable  so- 
ciety.    As  their  glances  met,  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"How  d'you  do,  Mr.  Barnard?"  she  said.  "I 
believe  I've  been  longing  to  know  you  ever  since  I 
heard  you  laugh  one  day  two  years  ago." 

She  spoke  warmly — impulsively — almost  as  Denis 
Asshlin  might  have  spoken.  Involuntarily,  Milbanke 
glanced  at  her  with  a  species  of  surprise.  In  that 
moment  she  was  neither  the  frank,  fearless  child  he 
had  first  known  nor  the  self-contained,  unfathom- 
able girl  who  had  since  become  his  daily  companion. 
In  the  crowded,  cosmopolitan  atmosphere  of  the 
hotel  she  seemed  suddenly  to  display  a  new  in- 
dividuality. 

i8i 


THE    GAMBLER 

Barnard  took  her  out-stretched  hand  and  bowed 
over  it  impressively. 

"It  is  very  charaiing  of  you  to  say  that,  Mrs.  Mil- 
banke,"  he  murmured.  "But  I'm  afraid  James  has 
told  me  that  you  come  from  Ireland!" 

Clodagh  laughed. 

"He'll  also  tell  you  that  I  lived  quite  forty  miles 
from  the  Blarney  stone!" 

She  looked  up,  her  face  brimming  with  animation. 
Then  suddenly  and  involuntarily  she  colored.  The 
young  Englishman  of  the  terrace  was  coming  slowly 
down  the  stairs. 

He  descended  nonchalantly,  and  as  he  reached 
the  hall  he  deliberately  paused  in  front  of  the  little 
group 

"  Hollo,  Barny!"  he  said,  easily.  "Been  playing 
much  bridge  this  afternoon?" 

Barnard  looked  round  with  his  tactfully  affable 
smile. 

"Haven't  had  one  rubber,"  he  said. 

"No?" 

"No." 

There  was  a  pause — a  seemingly  unnecessary  and 
pointless  pause — in  which  Barnard  looked  suavely  at 
the  new-comer;  the  new-comer  looked  at  Clodagh; 
and  Clodagh  looked  fixedly  out  over  Milbanke's 
head.  Then  at  last,  and  suddenly,  the  older  man 
seemed  to  realize  that  something  was  expected  of 
him.  With  a  gay  gesture  he  metaphorically  swept 
the  silence  aside. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  affably,  "will  you  per- 
mit me  to  present  my  friend,  Mr.  Valentine  Serra- 
cauld?" 


XIX 

CLODAGH  looked  up,  coloring  afresh,  and  the 
young  man  bowed  quickly  and  eagerly.  He 
belonged  to  a  type  new  to  her  but  familiar  to  every 
social  Londoner.  The  type  of  young  Englishman 
who,  gifted  with  unusual  height  and  fine  possibilities 
of  muscular  development,  saunters  through  life — 
physically  and  morally — exerting  his  energy  and  his 
strength  in  one  direction  only — the  eternal,  aimless, 
enervating  search  after  personal  pleasure. 

To  be  explicit,  the  Honorable  Valentine  Serracauld 
was  suffering  from  that  most  modern  of  complaints — 
the  lack  of  surmountable  obstacles.  The  nephew  of 
one  of  the  richest  peers  in  England,  he  had  started 
life  heavily  handicapped.  A  sufficiency  of  money 
had  rendered  work  unnecessary;  good  looks  and  a 
naturally  ingratiating  manner  had  precluded  the 
need  for  mental  equipment;  while  his  social  position 
had  unfairly  protected  him  from  any  share  in  the 
rough-and-tumble  existence  that  moulds  and  hardens 
a  man's  character.  At  fifteen  he  had  been  an  aver- 
age healthy  public -school  boy;  at  five -and -twenty 
he  was  a  fashionable  young  aristocrat,  whose  only 
business  in  life  was  the  aiding  and  abetting  of  his 
uncle  in  the  absorbing  pursuit  of  killing  time. 

He  bowed  now  to  Clodagh  with  the  extreme  im- 
pressiveness  that  men  of  his  type  bestow  upon  a  new 
and  promising  introduction. 

183 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Charmed  to  meet  you,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said. 
"Are  you  a  resident  here — or  a  bird  of  passage  Hke 
ourselves?"     He  indicated  Barnard. 

Clodagh  met  his  intent  gaze  with  a  renewed  thrill 
of  speculative  pleasure. 

"My  husband  and  I  live  at  Florence,"  she  ex- 
plained. "  We  are  only  here  on  business  —  which 
sounds  a  desecration." 

Serracauld  continued  to  watch  her. 

"Not  if  you  have  any  share  in  it,"  he  said,  in  a 
low  voice. 

She  laughed  and  blushed. 

"I'm  afraid  you  speak  from  inexperience,"  she 
said.  "To  the  people  who  know  me,  I  am  a  very 
prosaic  person." 

She  looked  involuntarily  at  Milbanke. 

But  Milbanke's  eyes  were  on  the  groups  of  hotel 
guests  already  moving  towards  the  dining-room. 

"Don't  you  think  we  might  —  might  make  a 
move — ?"  he  hazarded,  vaguely. 

There  was  a  very  slight  pause,  then  Serracauld 
responded  to  the  suggestion. 

"You  are  quite  right,"  he  said,  easily.  "I  expect 
my  uncle  is  looking  for  me;  he  usually  gets  fidgety 
about  feeding-time.  Will  you  excuse  me,  Mrs. 
Milbanke  ?  Perhaps  later  on  I  shall  have  the  chance 
of  correcting  that  inexperience  you  accuse  me  of." 

He  laughed  pleasantly,  and,  with  a  courteous  gest- 
ure, disappeared  into  the  crowd  that  was  fast  filing 
out  of  the  hall. 

As  he  disappeared,  Clodagh  turned  towards  the 
dining-room,  leaving  Milbanke  and  Barnard  to  fol- 
low; but  she  had  scarcely  crossed  the  hall  when  the 
latter  overtook  her. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  genially,  "what 

184 


THE    GAMBLER 

do  you   think  of  our  young   friend  ?     T   believe  he 
usually  finds  favor  in  ladies'  eyes." 

She  glanced  up. 

"I  think  him  very  charming,"  she  said,  candidly. 
"Who  is  he?     Do  you  know  him  well?" 

Barnard  smiled. 

"I  know  him  since  he  was  a  boy  at  Eton.  He  is 
nephew  of  the  famous  Lord  Deerehurst,  who,  accord- 
ing to  rumor,  spends  three  hundred  a  year  on  silk 
socks  and  bathes  every  morning  in  scented  milk." 

Clodagh  made  an  exclamation  of  disgust. 

"What  an  abominable  person!" 

Again  Barnard  smiled. 

"Well,  I  don't  quite  know,"  he  said,  tolerantly. 
"Rumor  is  generally  a  yard  of  two  in  front  of  reahty. 
Perhaps  Deerehurst  is  rather  a  mummified  old  roue; 
but  then,  you  know,  embalming  is  a  clean  process, 
Mrs.  Milbanke,  before  as  well  as  after  death.  I 
sometimes  wonder  whether  our  friend  Valentine  will 
put  the  family  money  to  such  harmless  use,  if  he 
ever  succeeds  to  the  title.  He  is  next  in  the  suc- 
cession, but  for  one  feeble  life." 

Clodagh's  eyes  widened. 

"Really!"  she  said.  "I  should  never  have  con- 
nected him  with  so  much  responsibihty." 

Barnard  looked  down  at  her. 

"Responsibility!"  he  said.  "Where  have  you 
been  hiding  yourself  that  you  should  couple  a  mod- 
ern peer  with  responsibilities?  I  assure  you  if  a 
duke  or  an  earl  is  an  all  -  round  good  fellow  nowa- 
days nobody  will  trouble  to  inquire  further.  But 
what  has  become  of  your  husband?" 

He  paused  and  glanced  round  the  fast-emptying  hall. 

As  he  did  so  Milbanke  hurried  up,  his  manner 
newlv  interested,  his  thin  face  flushed. 

i8s 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Who  do  you  think  I  have  just  seen,  Clodagh?" 
he  asked,  excitedly.  "Mr.  Angelo  Tomes^that  in- 
teresting scientist  who  joined  our  party  at  Pisa  last 
year." 

Clodagh  looked  round. 

"What!"  she  said,  in  surprise.  "The  big,  untidy- 
looking  man  with  a  face  like  a  goat,  who  had  written 
a  book  on  something  terribly  unpronounceable?" 

Milbanke  nodded  gravely. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "A  most  interesting  and  ex- 
haustive work.  I  shall  make  a  point  of  congrat- 
ulating him  upon  it  directly  we  have  finished  din- 
ner. 

"And  what  about  me?"  Barnard  eyed  him  quiz- 
zically. 

"You!  Oh,  you  must  wait,  David.  You  will 
understand  that  a  man  like  Mr.  Tomes  is  not  to  be 
met  with  every  day." 

They  were  entering  the  dining-room  as  Milbanke 
spoke,  and  involuntarily  Barnard  glanced  from  the 
precise,  formal  figure  of  his  friend  to  the  youthful, 
attractive  form  of  his  friend's  wife. 

"And  you,  Mrs.  Milbanke?"  he  asked,  in  an  under- 
tone. "  Are  you  an  equally  great  enthusiast  ?  Does 
the  antique  appeal  very  forcibly  to  you?" 

As  he  put  the  question  he  was  conscious  of  its 
irony,  but  an  irrepressible  curiosity  forced  him  to 
utter  it.  He  was  still  laboring  under  an  intense  sur- 
prise at  Milbanke's  choice  of  a  wife,  and  the  desire  to 
probe  the  nature  of  this  strange  relationship  was 
strong  within  him. 

"Are  you  like  the  man  in  the  Eastern  story?"  he 
added.     "Would  you  barter  new  lamps  for  old?" 

Clodagh  was  walking  in  front  of  him  as  he  put  the 
question,  and  Milbanke  was  left  momentarily  behind. 

i86 


THE     GAMBLER 

For  ca  second  she  made  no  reply;  then  suddenly  she 
turned  and  cast  a  bright  glance  over  her  shoulder. 

"If  you  had  asked  me  that  question  this  morning, 
Mr.  Barnard,"  she  said,  "I  don't  believe  I  could  have 
answered  it.  But  now  I  can.  I  would  not  part 
with  one  new,  bright,  comfortable  lamp  for  a  hun- 
dred old  ones  —  no  matter  how  rare.  Am  I  a  great 
vandal?" 

Her  eyes  were  shining  with  the  excitement  of  the 
moment,  and  her  face  looked  beautifully  and  eagerly 
alive. 

"Am  I  a  great  vandal?"  she  repeated,  softly. 

There  was  an  instant's  pause ;  then  Barnard  stepped 
closer  to  her  side. 

"No,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said.  "But  you  are  a 
very  unmistakable  child  of  Eve." 

The  dinner  that  night  was  a  feast  to  Clodagh.  She 
sat  between  Milbanke  and  Barnard;  and  though  the 
former  was  silently  engrossed  in  the  thought  of  his 
coming  interview,  and,  for  the  time  being,  the  latter 
confined  his  talk  to  impersonal  subjects,  she  felt  as 
she  had  never  felt  before  in  the  span  of  her  twenty- 
two  years.  For  the  first  time  she  was  conscious  of 
being  a  woman — privileged  by  right  divine  to  receive 
the  homage  and  the  consideration  of  men.  It  was  a 
wonderful,  a  thrilling  discovery ;  all  the  more  thrilling 
and  all  the  more  wonderful  because  shrouded  as  yet 
in  a  veil  of  mystery. 

Dinner  was  half-way  through  before  Barnard 
returned  to  his  task  of  studying  her  individually; 
then  he  turned  to  her  with  his  most  suavely  confi- 
dential manner. 

"  Have  you  been  very  gay  in  Florence  this  season  ?" 
he  asked. 

She  looked  up  quickly. 

187 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Gay?"  she  repeated.  "Oh  no.  I  don't  think 
v/e  are  ever  exactly  gay." 

He  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"Indeed!"  he  said.  "You  surprise  me.  There 
used  to  be  quite  an  amusing  EngHsh  crowd  at  Flor- 
ence." 

Clodagh  colored,  feeling  vaguely  conscious  of  some 
want  in  her  social  equipment. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  the  other  English  residents," 
she  corrected,  hastily.  "I  meant  ourselves — James 
and  L" 

Barnard's  face  became  profoundly  interested. 

"But  don't  you  care  for  society?"  he  said,  his  eyes 
travelling  expressively  over  her  elaborate  dress. 

Again  she  colored. 

"It  isn't  that,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  quick  voice. 
"James  doesn't  care  about  parties — or  people — " 

Barnard's  lips  parted  to  express  surprise  or  sym- 
pathy; but  she  finished  her  sentence  hastily. 

" — And  of  course  I  like  what  he  likes." 

Barnard  bent  his  head. 

"Of  course,"  he  said,  enigmatically,  and  dropped 
back  into  silence. 

For  a  time  he  remained  apparently  absorbed  in 
his  dinner.  Then,  as  Clodagh  began  to  wonder  un- 
comfortably whether  she  had  unwittingly  offended 
him,  he  turned  to  her  again. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  softly,  "would  you  think 
me  very  presumptuous  if  I  were  to  make  a  little  pro- 
posal?" 

Clodagh  brightened. 

"Of  course  not.     Say  anything  you  like." 

"You  will  be  here  for  a  week?" 

"  I — I  hope  so."   She  glanced  covertly  at  Milbanke. 

"Oh  yes,  you  will.     I  shall  arrange  it." 

i88 


THE    GAMBLER 

She  looked  at  hiin  quickly. 

"You?"  she  said.     "How?" 

"Never  mind  how."  He  smiled  reassuringly. 
"You  will  be  here  for  a  week,  and  my  proposal  is 
that  while  Milbanke  is  settling  his  business  I  should 
be  allowed  to  introduce  you  to  some  English  friends 
of  mine  who  are  in  Venice  just  now.  It  may  be 
presumptuous,  but  I  seem  to  feel" — he  hesitated  for 
a  moment — "I  seem  to  feel  that  you  want  to  make 
new  friends — that  you  want  to  have  a  good  time. 
Forgive  my  being  so  very  blunt." 

Clodagh  sat  silent.  She  felt  no  resentment  at  his 
words,  but  they  vaguely  embarrassed  her.  The 
new  possibility  thrilled  her;  yet  insensibly  she  hesi- 
tated before  it. 

"But  ought  I  to  want  new  friends?"  she  asked  at 
last,  in  a  very  low  and  undecided  voice. 

Barnard  laid  down  the  glass  that  he  was  lifting  to 
his  lips  and  looked  at  her  quickly.  Her  freshness 
charmed  while  her  naivete  puzzled  him. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "sup- 
pose we  find  that  out?" 

And,  leaning  forward,  he  addressed  Milbanke. 

"James,"  he  said,  "I  have  just  been  making  a 
little  suggestion.  While  you  and  I  are  putting  our 
ancient  heads  together,  don't  you  think  Mrs.  Mil- 
banke ought  to  study  her  Venice  —  local  color  — 
atmosphere — all  that  sort  of  thing?" 

Milbanke  turned  in  his  seat. 

"  Eh,  David  ?"heexclaimed.  "  What's  that  you  say  ?" 

"I  was  suggesting  that  Mrs.  Milbanke  should  see  a 
little  of  Venice  now  that  she  is  here." 

He  indicated  the  long  windows  of  the  dining-room 
through  which  the  sound  of  voices  and  light  music 
was  already  being  borne  on  the  purple  twilight. 

189 


THE    GAMBLER 

Milbanke's  face  became  slightly  disturbed. 

"Of  course — of  course!"  he  said,  vaguely.  "But 
— but  neither  of  us  care  much  for  conventional  sight- 
seeing; and  then,  you  know,  my  time  here  is  limited." 

"Exactly!  Exactly  what  I  was  saying.  Your 
time  is  valuable.  All  the  more  danger  of  Mrs.  Mil- 
banke's hanging  heavy  on  her  hands.  Now  there 
are  some  charming  people  staying  here  at  present 
who  would  be  only  too  delighted  to  make  her  visit 
pleasant." 

Milbanke's  expression  cleared. 

"Oh,  well — "  he  began,  in  a  relieved  voice. 

"Exactly!  Lady  Frances  Hope  is  here.  You 
remember  Lady  Frances  who  married  my  cousin 
Sammy  Hope — the  red-headed  Httle  beggar  who 
went  into  the  navy  ?  She  would  be  immensely  in- 
terested in  Mrs.  Milbanke.  I  wish  you  would  let 
me  make  them  known  to  each  other." 

He  smiled  suavely,  thoroughly  in  his  element  at 
the  prospect  of  working  a  little  social  scheme. 

Milbanke  looked  at  Clodagh. 

"  What  do  you  think,  my  dear?"  he  asked,  vaguely. 

Clodagh  looked  down  at  her  plate. 

"I  don't  quite  know,"  she  murmured. 

Barnard  leaned  close  to  her  in  a  confiding  manner. 

"Quite  right,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said.  "Never 
trouble  to  analyze  your  feelings.  Just  give  them  a 
free  rein.  Lady  Frances  Hope  is  a  most  charming 
woman.  Always  bright,  always  good-natured,  al- 
ways in  the  swim — if  you  understand  that  very  ex- 
pressive phrase." 

Clodagh  smiled  as  she  helped  herself  to  an  ice. 
During  their  conversation  the  dinner  had  drawn 
towards  its  close,  and  here  and  there  people  were 
already   rising  from  table  and  moving  towards  the 

190 


THE    GAMBLER 

hall  or  the  long  windows  that  opened  on  to  the 
canal.  Unconsciously  her  eyes  turned  in  the  direc- 
tion of  these  open  windows,  through  which  a  flood 
of  light  streamed  out  upon  the  water,  bringing  into 
prominence  the  dark  gondolas  that  flitted  perpetually 
to  and  fro  like  great  black  bats. 

Seeing  her  glance,  Barnard  turned  to  her  again. 

"Shall  we  charter  a  gondola?"  he  asked.  "It's 
the  thing  to  do  here." 

Her  eyes  sparkled. 

"Oh,  how  lovely!"  she  said;  then  involuntarily  her 
face  fell  and  she  looked  at  her  husband. 

"But  perhaps — "  she  began,  deprecatingly. 

As  the  word  escaped  her,  Milbanke — who  had  been 
oblivious  of  the  conversation  —  pushed  back  his 
chair  and  rose  from  table  with  a  faint  exclamation 
of  excitement. 

"Ah,  there  he  is!"  he  cried,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  a 
distant  corner  of  the  room.  "There  he  is!  I  must 
not  run  the  risk  of  missing  him!" 

Clodagh  turned  to  him  eagerly. 

"James,"  she  began,  "Mr.  Barnard  says — " 

But  Milbanke's  mind  was  elsewhere. 

"My  dear,"  he  said,  hurriedly,  "you  must  really 
excuse  me.  A  man  like  Mr.  Angelo  Tomes  is  a 
personage  of  importance." 

"Yes;  but.  James—" 

She  paused,  disconcerted.  Milbanke  had  left  the 
table. 

For  quite  a  minute  she  sat  silent,  her  cheeks  burn- 
ing and  her  eyes  smarting  with  a  sudden,  intolerable 
sense  of  mortification  and  neglect.  To  a  reasoning 
and  experienced  mind  the  incident  would  have 
carried  no  weight;  at  most  it  would  have  offered 
grounds  for  a  passing  amusement.     But  with  Clodagh 

191 


THE    GAMBLER 

the  case  was  different.  Circumstances  had  never 
demanded  the  cultivation  of  her  reason,  and  ex- 
perience was  an  asset  she  was  not  possessed  of.  To 
her  sensitive,  youthful  susceptibilities  the  incident 
could  only  wear  one  complexion.  Her  husband  had 
obviously  and  wittingly  humiliated  her  in  presence  of 
his  friend. 

She  sat  with  tightened  lips,  staring  unseeingly  at 
the  table. 

Then  suddenly  and  softly  some  one  crossed  the 
room  behind  her  and  paused  beside  her  chair.  Turning 
with  a  little  start,  she  saw  the  pale,  clean-cut  features 
and  searching,  dark  eyes  of  Valentine  Serracauld. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said  at  once,  in  his  easy,  in- 
gratiating voice,  "if  you  are  not  doing  anything 
else  this  evening,  may  I  place  my  uncle's  gondola  at 
your  disposal  ?  Both  he  and  I  would  be  consider- 
ably honored  if  you  and  your  husband — " 

Clodagh  looked  up  into  his  face  with  a  quick  glance 
of  pleasure  and  relief. 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  she  said.  "Thank  you  so  very 
inuch.  1  should  love  to  come,  only  my  husband  is 
— is  busy  to-night." 

She  paused,  and  in  the  pause  Barnard  leaned  close 
to  her  again  with  his  most  friendly  and  reassuring 
manner. 

"After  all,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  "do  you 
think  that  need  preclude  you  from  the  enjoyment? 
James  is  perfectly  happy ;  Lord  Deerehurst's  gondola 
is  quite  the  most  comfortable  in  Venice;  and  Lm 
sure  Vm  staid  enough  to  play  propriety!  Suppose 
we  make  a  party  of  four?" 

Serracauld   laughed  delightedly. 

"How  splendid!"  he  said.  "Mrs.  Milbanke,  may 
I  find  my  uncle  and  bring  him  to  be  introduced?" 

192 


THE    GAMBLER 

He  bent  forward  quickly,  leaning  across  Milbanke's 
empty  chair. 

For  one  second  Clodagh  sat  irresolute ;  then  she 
glanced  swiftly  from  one  interested,  admiring  face 
to  the  other,  and  again  the  blood  rushed  into  her 
face  in  a  wave  of  self-conscious  pride.  With  a 
sudden  smile  she  looked  up  into  Serracauld's  eyes. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  softly.     "Yes.     Bring  your  uncle 
to  be  introduced." 
13 


XX 

SERRACAULD  smiled  his  acknowledgment  of  the 
granted  permission,  and  departed  in  search  of  his 
uncle,  while  Barnard  looked  at  Clodagh  with  amused 
interest. 

"  If  you  can  waive  your  prejudices  against  the  milk 
baths,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  "you'll  find  old  Deere- 
hurst  quite  a  delightful  person.  But,  of  course,  when 
one  is  very  young,  prejudices  are  adhesive  things." 

He  finished  his  coffee  meditatively,  shooting  a 
glance  at  Clodagh  from  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

Clodagh  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  tentatively 
fingering  her  cup. 

"Do  I  seem  so  very  young?"  she  asked  at  last, 
without  raising  her  eyes. 

At  the  words  he  turned  and  looked  at  her  fully. 

"Do  you  know,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  seriously, 
"  I  am  literally  devoured  by  a  desire  to  ask  you  your 
age?  When  I  saw  you  come  down-stairs  to-night,  I 
felt — pardon  the  rudeness — like  laughing  in  James's 
face  when  he  introduced  you  as  his  wife.  You 
scarcely  looked  eighteen.  But  just  this  moment, 
when  you  spoke  of  your  life  at  Florence,  I  suddenly 
felt  out  in  my  calculations.  Your  face,  of  course, 
seemed  just  as  fascinatingly  young;  but  from  your 
expression  I  could  have  believed  you  to  be  twenty- 
four.  And  now  again — please  do  be  lenient  to  my 
impertinence — now   again,    as   you   spoke   to   Serra- 

194 


THE    GAMBLER 

cauld  you  looked  like  a  child  turning  the  first  page 
in  the  book  of  life.     Are  you  an  enigma?" 

During  the  first  portion  of  his  speech  Clodagh 
had  looked  grave;  but  at  his  last  words  she  laughed 
with  a  touch  of  constraint. 

"No,"  she  answered.  "I  am  nothing  half  so  in- 
teresting— and  it's  four  years  since  I  was  eighteen. 
But  hadn't  I  better  get  my  cloak  before  Mr.  Serra- 
cauld  comes  back?" 

With  another  slightly  embarrassed  laugh  she  rose, 
and,  without  waiting  for  Barnard's  escort,  walked  out 
of  the  room. 

Ten  minutes  later  she  descended  the  stairs,  wrapped 
in  a  light  evening  cloak.  Her  cheeks  were  still 
flushed  with  excitement  and  her  hazel  eyes  were 
dark  with  anticipation.  Yesterday  —  only  yester- 
day— she  had  been  a  mere  item  in  the  secluded,  un- 
important life  of  the  villa  at  Florence;  now,  to-night, 
three  men — each  one  of  whom  must,  in  his  time, 
have  known  superlatively  interesting  and  beautiful 
women — awaited  her  pleasure! 

As  she  stepped  across  the  hall  Serracauld  darted 
forward  to  meet  her. 

"This  is  very  gracious  of  you,"  he  murmured.  "I 
hear  it  is  your  first  evening  in  Venice." 

She  glanced  up  at  him  as  they  moved  slowly  for- 
ward across  the  hall. 

"My  very  first  evening,"  she  said,  softly.  "And 
I  so  want  to  enjoy  it." 

He  paused  deliberately,  and  looked  at  her. 

"May  I  take  that  as  permission  to  make  it  enjoy- 
able—if  I  can  ?" 

Her  lashes  drooped  in  instinctive,  native  coquetry. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  introtluce  your  uncle  to  me?" 
she  said,  in  a  lowered  voice. 

^9S 


THE    GAMBLER 

He  looked  at  her  mystified  and  attracted. 

"If  I  knew  you  better,  Mrs.  Milbanke — "  he  began. 

But  without  replying,  Clodagh  moved  away  from 
him  across  the  hall  and  out  on  to  the  terrace.  There, 
transfixed  by  a  new  impression,  she  paused  invol- 
untarily. 

Venice  is  beautiful  in  the  morning  and  exquisite 
in  the  twilight,  but  it  is  at  night  that  the  mystery  of 
Venice  —  that  most  subtle  of  its  many  charms  — 
enwraps  and  envelops  it  like  a  magic  web.  There 
is  nothing  in  Europe  to  rival  the  literal,  tangible 
romance  of  Venice  at  night.  The  faint,  idle,  in- 
finitely suggestive  lap  of  water  against  a  thousand 
unseen  steps;  the  secret  darkness,  revealed  rather 
than  dispersed  by  the  furtive,  uneven  lights  shed 
forth  from  windows  or  open  doors;  the  throb  of 
music  that  seems  woven  into  the  picture  —  an  in- 
separable, integral  part  of  the  enchanted  life.  All 
— collectively  and  separately  —  is  a  wonder  and  a 
joy. 

To  Clodagh,  with  her  inherent  appreciation  of 
things  mystic  and  beautiful,  the  scene  was  a  narcotic. 
In  an  ecstasy,  she  stood  drinking  it  in;  then,  sud- 
denly touched  with  the  warm  desire  of  sharing  her 
impressions,  she  turned  to  the  companion  who  had 
followed  her. 

"Isn't  it — wonderful?"  she  said,  below  her  breath. 

Serracauld  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  puzzled 
doubt;  then  he  smiled  indulgently. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  vaguely.  "Yes.  It  is  rather 
great — the  singing  and  the  gondolas  and — and  all 
that  sort  of  thing — " 

Her  large,  clear  eyes  rested  on  his  face,  then  slowly 
returned  to  their  scrutiny  of  the  canal.  A  momentary 
sense  of  disappointment  had  assailed  her;  she  was 

196 


J 


THE    GAMBLER 

conscious  of  a  momentary  jar.  But  as  she  stood, 
silent  and  uncertain,  a  fresh  burst  of  low,  throbbing 
music  broke  across  the  darkness,  and  at  the  same 
moment  she  became  conscious  of  a  large  gondola 
gliding  up  to  the  hotel  steps. 

With    the    excitement   of   anticipation,    the    cloud 
passed  from  her  face. 

"Come!"    she    cried.      "Come!     I    see    Mr.    Bar- 
nard." 

It  was  at  the  head  of  the  flight  of  stone  steps  lead- 
ing to  the  water  that  Lord  Deerchurst  was  introduced 
to  her;  and  in  the  scmidarkness  it  struck  her  that 
he  made  a  distinctly  interesting  figure,  with  his 
black  hair  worn  a  shade  lower  on  the  forehead  than 
modem  fashion  permits,  his  pale,  aristocratic,  un- 
emotional face,  his  cold,  penetrating  eyes,  and  the 
somewhat  unusual  evening  clothes  that  fitted  his 
tall  figure  closely,  and,  by  a  clever  touch  of  the  tailor's 
art,  conveyed  the  suggestion  of  an  era  more  pictu- 
resque than  our  own.  She  studied  him  with  deep  at- 
tention, and  bent  her  head  in  gratified  acknowledg- 
ment of  the  profound  bow  with  which  he  marked  the 
introduction.  A  moment  later  he  offered  her  his 
hand,  and  himself  assisted  her  to  the  waiting  gon- 
dola. 

With  a  pleasant,  excited  sense  of  dignity  and  im- 
portance, she  passed  down  the  steps  and  entered  the 
boat,  noting  as  she  took  her  seat  its  costly  and 
elaborate  fittings  and  the  picturesque  livery  of  the 
two  gondoliers;  then,  as  she  leaned  back  against  the 
cushions  that  supported  her,  her  eyes  passed  back 
interestedly  to  the  three  men  to  whom  she  owed  the 
night's  adventure. 

Lord  Deerehurst  came  first,  moving  with  a  certain 
stifl  dignity,  and  appropriated  the  seat  by  her  side; 

197 


THE    GAMBLER 

Barnard  and  Serracauld  followed,  placing  themselves 
on  the  two  smaller  seats  that  flank  the  stern;  and  a 
moment  later  she  saw  the  gondoliers  swing  lithely 
round  into  their  allotted  positions,  and  felt  the  gon- 
dola shoot  out  swiftly  and  silently  into  the  dark 
waters. 

Following  the  custom  of  the  place,  the  gondoliers 
headed  for  the  point  where  the  idle  and  the  pleasure- 
seeking  of  Venice  gather  nightly  to  listen  to  the 
music  and  lazily  watch  the  swaying  paper  lanterns 
of  the  musicians'   gondolas. 

Clodagh  sat  silent  as  they  skimmed  onward.  She 
was  bending  slightly  forward,  her  whole  attitude  an 
unconscious  typifying  of  expectancy;  her  hands  were 
lightly  clasped  in  her  lap,  and  again  the  golden  hazel 
of  her  eyes  was  darkened  by  their  dilated  pupils. 

As  the  gondola  slackened  speed  and  the  throbbing 
music  became  nearer,  more  intoxicating,  more  dis- 
tinct. Lord  Deerehurst,  who  had  been  covertly  study- 
ing her,  leaned  suddenly  close  to  her. 

"You  are  a  great  appreciator  of  the  beautiful,  Mrs. 
Milbanke,"  he  said,  in  his  thin,  high-bred  voice. 

Clodagh  started,  and,  glancing  from  one  to  the 
other  of  the  three  men,  laughed  shyly. 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  she  asked. 

"  Because  I  have  presumed  to  watch  your  face." 

She  blushed;  and  Barnard,  feeling  rather  than 
seeing  her  embarrassment,  made  haste  to  reassure 
her. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke  is  an  adept  in  the  appreciation  of 
beauty,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh.  "She  was  brought 
up  on  the  study  of  it." 

Again  Clodagh  colored,  and  again  she  gave  a  shy 
laugh. 

"If  you  say  that,  Mr.  Barnard,"  she  said,  "I  shall 

198 


THE    GAMBLER 

accuse  you  of  being  a  fellow-countryman.  I  am 
Irish,  you  know."  She  turned  and  looked  up  at 
Deerchurst. 

The  old  peer  again  bent  forward  interestedly. 

"Indeed!"  he  exclaimed.  "Then  we  have  a  bond 
of  sympathy.  Some  of  my  best  friends  come  from 
Ireland." 

His  voice  was  high  and  possessed  no  fulness,  but 
he  had  the  same  courteously  ingratiating  manner 
that  belonged  to  his  nephew ;  while  a  larger  acquaint- 
ance with  the  world  had  taught  him  an  adaptability 
to  circumstances — and  persons — that  Serracauld  had 
not  troubled  to  acquire.  As  he  spoke  now  he  brought 
a  tone  of  deference  and  friendliness  into  his  words 
that  touched  Clodagh  to  a  feeling  of  companionship. 

"Then  you  know  Ireland?"  she  said,  quickly. 

"Very  well  indeed." 

Her  expression  softened. 

"When  were  you  there  last?"  she  asked,  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  Last  autumn.    I  was  staying  at  Arranmore  with — " 

"With  Lord  Muskeere.  I  know.  I  know.  Why, 
you  were  in  our  county.  My  father  often  and  often 
stayed  at  Arranmore  before — "  She  checked  herself 
hastily.  "Oh,  long  ago,  before — before  I  was  bom," 
she  added,  a  little  awkwardly.  "It  was  from  a 
stream  that  runs  by  Arranmore  that  he  took  my 
name — Clodagh." 

"Indeed!     What  a  charming  idea!" 

Deerehurst  raised  his  gold-rimmed  eye-glass  and 
peered  at  her  through  the  dusk. 

At  the  same  moment  Serracauld  leaned  forward  in 
his  seat. 

"Clodagh!"  he  repeated.  "Clodagh!  What  a 
pretty  name!" 

199 


THE    GAMBLER 

Once  more,  and  without  apparent  reason,  Clodagh 
felt  her  heart  beat  unevenly.  With  a  short  laugh 
she  turned  to  Barnard. 

"And  you,  Mr.  Barnard,"  she  said,  hastily;  "do 
you  like  the  name?" 

Barnard  made  a  suave  gesture. 

"I  say  that  it  fits  its  owner." 

Once  more  she  laughed  with  a  tinge  of  nervous 
excitement. 

"A  very  guarded  statement,"  she  said,  brightly. 
"I  think  we  had  better  talk  about  something  else. 
Who  are  the  people  I  am  to  meet  here  ?  Mr.  Barnard 
kindly  wants  to  provide  me  with  new  friends." 

She  turned  again  to  Deerehurst. 

"Indeed!"  Once  more  he  lifted  the  gold-rimmed 
eye-glass,  this  time  to  study  Barnard. 

"Yes,"  broke  in  Barnard,  genially.  "Mrs.  Mil- 
banke's  husband  and  I  have  met  here  to  talk  shop; 
and  I  have  a  shrewd  presentiment  that,  unless  we 
provide  her  with  a  diverting  channel  or  two,  Mrs. 
Milbanke  may  find  Venice  a  bore." 

"I  could  never  do  that." 

Clodagh  turned  an  animated  face  towards  the  dark 
flotilla,  on  the  outskirts  of  which  their  own  gondola 
was  hovering. 

"But,  my  dear  lady,  even  Venice  can  become  un- 
interesting and  dry,  paradoxical  as  it  may  sound," 
Barnard  returned,  airily.  "My  proposal,"  he  ex- 
plained, "is  that  I  should  make  Frances  Hope  and 
Mrs.  Milbanke  known  to  each  other.  Don't  you 
think  the  idea  brilliant?" 

"Quite!  Quite!"  Serracauld  looked  up  interest- 
edly.    "You  are  a  man  of  ideas,  Barny!" 

Lord  Deerehurst  said  nothing,  but  again  his  eye- 
glass gleamed  in  the  uncertain  light. 

200 


THE    GAMBLER 

"What  is  Lady  Frances  Hope  like?"  Clodagh 
asked,  suddenly  withdrawing  her  gaze  from  the 
massed  gondolas  that  swayed  in  the  musicians'  lan- 
tern-light. 

"Like?"  Serracauld  repeated,  vaguely.  "How 
would  you  describe  her,  uncle?  The  sort  of  woman 
who  does  everything  twice  as  well  as  anybody  else — 
and  at  half  the  cost — eh?" 

Lord  Deerehurst  gave  one  of  his  thin,  metallic 
laughs. 

"I  always  think,"  he  said,  slowly,  "that  if  Lady 
Frances  Hope  had  been  the  child  of  a  milkman  instead 
of  a  marquis,  she  would  have  made  a  singularly  suc- 
cessful adventuress.  No  reflections  cast  upon  the 
late  Sammy,  my  dear  Barnard!" 

He  waved  his  white  hand,  and  the  dim,  uncertain 
light  gleamed  on  a  magnificent  diamond  ring. 

Barnard  laughed  with  a  tolerant  air. 

"Rather  an  apt  deduction,"  he  admitted.  "I  am 
inclined  to  agree  with  you.  Frances  is  just  one  of 
those  shrewd,  plain-looking,  attractive  women  who 
enjoy  climbing  steep  ladders.  It  is  rather  a  pity  she 
was  born  on  the  top  rung.  But  I  believe  we  have 
frightened  Mrs.  Milbanke!" 

He  turned  suddenly  and  caught  Clodagh's  ex- 
pression as  she  sat  forward  listening  intently. 

At  the  mention  of  her  name  she  laughed  quickly, 
and  leaned  back  against  the  cushions  of  her  seat. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  with  a  touch  of 
constraint.     "Am  I  as  childish  as  all  that?" 

They  all  three  looked  at  her.  and  Barnard  gave 
an  amused  laugh. 

"Come!"  he  cried,  banteringly.  "There's  no  use 
telling  me  vou  weren't  just  a  little  shocked." 

"Shocked?" 

20I 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Yes,  shocked."  He  nodded  his  head  once  or 
twice  in  genial  gayety.  "There's  no  denying  that 
the  word  '  adventuress '  has  a  daunting  sound.  There 
was  a  danger-signal  in  the  very  thought  of  a  lady 
who  might^ — under  any  conditions — have  been  no- 
torious.    Come  now,  confess!" 

Clodagh  looked  from  his  amused,  quizzical  eyes  to 
Serracauld's  satirical,  laughing  ones,  and  a  shadow 
of  uncertainty — of  doubt — -crossed  her  own  bright 
face.  There  was  an  element  in  this  social  atmos- 
phere that  she  did  not  quite  understand. 

"Indeed — "  she  began,  hotly. 

But  Serracauld,  whose  glance  had  never  left  her 
own,  bent  forward  quickly,  looking  up  into  her 
face. 

"I  say,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  cried,  "let's  refute  the 
insinuation  of  this  old  inquisitor!  Let's  waive  cere- 
mony and  storm  Lady  Frances  Hope  in  her  citadel! 
She  is  always  at  home  at  this  hour  of  night." 

Clodagh  looked  up. 

"To-night?"  she  said.  "Oh,  but  how  could  I?  I 
don't  know  her." 

Serracauld  laughed. 

"Oh,  as  for  that,  we're  abroad,  not  in  England. 
The  greatest  stickler  for  etiquette  allows  that  there's 
a  difference  in  the  two  conditions." 

"But  I  couldn't.  How  could  I?"  Her  eyes 
sought  Barnard's. 

"Oh  yes!"  he  cried.  "I  knew  it!  I  knew  it! 
We  have  frightened  you  off!" 

She  flushed  uncomfortably. 

"It  isn't  that!"  she  cried,  in  distress.  "You  know 
it  isn't  that!"  Involuntarily  she  turned  to  Lord 
Deerehurst;  but  in  the  dim  light  she  detected  a  smile 
on  his  pale,  cold  face. 

202 


THE    GAMBLER 

With  a  sudden  change  of  emotion,  self-rehance  came 
to  her. 

"Where  does  Lady  Frances  Hope  live?"  she  asked, 
in  a  careless  voice. 

Barnard  was  studying  her  intently, 

"She  has  apartments  in  the  Palazzo  Ugochini,"  he 
said.      "Quite  close  at  hand." 

For  a  moment  Clodagh  looked  fixedly  in  front  of 
her;  then  her  lips  closed  suddenly  and  she  turned 
her  head. 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  shortly.  "Take  me  to  the 
Palazzo  Ugochini  —  just  to  prove  that  you  were 
wrong." 


XXI 

THE  decision  was  no  sooner  made  than  it  was 
carried  into  execution.  The  order  was  given 
to  the  gondoliers,  and  instantly  the  long,  dark  gondola 
swung  round,  disengaging  itself  from  the  tangle  of 
surrounding  craft,  and  headed  for  the  quieter  spaces 
of  the  middle  stream. 

The  Palazzo  Ugochini  was  on  the  Grand  Canal;  and 
as  they  glided  westward,  past  the  beautiful  church  of 
Santa  Maria  della  Salute,  Barnard  leaned  forward  and 
directed  her  attention  to  their  destination. 

"There  is  the  palace  of  the  Ugochini,"  he  said. 
"It  contains  some  of  the  finest  frescoes  in  Italy. 
It  was  bought  up  some  years  ago  by  an  enterprising 
Frenchman,  who  lets  it  out  in  sections.  Just  now 
Lady  Frances  Hope  is  the  proud  occupier  of  the 
first  floor." 

With  a  movement  of  interest  she  followed  his 
glance,  looking  silently  at  the  long  line  of  irregular, 
imposing  buildings  that  stretched  away  before  her. 

"What  a  beautiful  old  place!"  she  said.  "Are 
those  your  friend's  windows?" 

She  indicated  the  first  floor  of  the  palace,  from 
the  open  windows  of  which  a  warm  stream  of  light 
poured  downward  upon  the  water. 

"Yes.  I  expect  they're  playing  bridge  up  there. 
Frances  is  an  enthusiast.  By-the-way,  do  you  gam- 
ble, Mrs.  Milbanke?" 

204 


THE    GAMBLER 

Involuntarily  Clodagh  started  and  looked  round; 
then,  as  she  met  Barnard's  bland,  amiable  face,  she 
blushed  at  her  own  emotions. 

"Oh  no,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "I — I  never 
play  cards." 

Serracauld  looked  up  quickly. 

"  What!"  he  exclaimed.     "  You  don't  play  bridge  ?" 

"I  have  never  played  any  game  of  cards  since  I 
was  a  child." 

The  three  men  looked  at  her  in  unfeigned  surprise. 

"Not  really,  Mrs.  Milbanke?" 

Scrracauld's  eyes  were  wide  with  astonishment. 

"Really!     Quite  really!" 

She  smiled  as  she  made  the  statement. 

"Why,  you  are  ethereal,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  Barnard 
said,  laughingly,  as  the  gondola  glided  up  to  the 
palace  steps.  "The  passport  to  humanity  nowadays 
is  an  inordinate  love  of  risk." 

Clodagh  laughed  nervously. 

"Then  I  must  be  inhuman,"  she  said. 

The  gondola  stopped,  and  Lord  Deerehurst  rose. 
As  he  offered  her  his  hand  he  looked  searchingly  into 
her  face. 

"Only  time  can  prove  the  truth  of  that  statement, 
Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  in  his  high,  thin  voice. 

In  the  myster^^  of  her  surroundings  the  words 
seemed  to  Clodagh  to  possess  a  curious,  almost  a 
prophetic  ring,  and  their  echo  lingered  in  her  ears  as 
she  stepped  from  the  gondola  and  entered  the  palace. 
But  she  was  young,  and  to  the  young,  action  must 
ever  outweigh  suggestion.  She  had  scarcely  mounted 
the  old  marble  staircase  before  the  excitement  of 
her  impending  ordeal  sent  all  other  ideas  spinning 
into  oblivion.  There  was  adventure  and  experience 
in  every  succeeding  moment. 

205 


THE    GAMBLER 

At  the  head  of  the  stairs  they  were  met-  by  an 
Enghsh  man-servant.  He  stepped  forward  gravely, 
as  if  accustomed  to  the  arrival  of  late  callers,  and, 
relieving  Clodagh  of  her  cloak,  ushered  her  down  a 
long  corridor  and  through  an  arched  doorway  hidden 
by  a  velvet  curtain. 

The  salon  into  which  they  were  shown  was  large 
and  high-ceiled.  The  walls  displayed  some  allegorical 
studies  in  the  fresco  work  of  which  Barnard  had  spo- 
ken; the  floor  was  bare  of  carpet  and  highly  poUshed, 
reflecting  the  elaborately  designed  but  scanty  furni- 
ture and  the  wonderful  glass  chandeliers  that  hung 
from  the  ceiling;  and  in  the  three  long  windows  that 
opened  on  the  canal  stood  groups  of  statuary. 

During  the  moment  that  followed  their  entrance, 
Clodagh  almost  believed  that  the  room  was  unoccu- 
pied, so  wide  and  formal  did  it  look;  but  a  second 
glance  convinced  her  of  her  mistake.  At  its  farther 
end  four  persons  were  playing  cards  at  a  small  table, 
partly  sheltered  from  the  rest  of  the  room  by  a 
massive  leather  screen. 

When  their  names  were  announced  no  one  at  the 
table  moved  or  even  looked  round ;  but  immediately 
afterwards  there  was  a  stir  among  the  players,  and 
the  light  sound  of  cards  thrown  hastily  down,  fol- 
lowed by  a  quick  laugh  in  a  woman's  voice. 

"Game— and  rubber!  Well  done,  partner!  How 
does  the  score  stand,  Tory?" 

The  owner  of  the  laugh  rose  from  her  seat  and 
almost  instantly  turned  to  the  door,  revealing  to 
Clodagh's  curious  eyes  a  strong,  energetic,  face,  re- 
deemed from  ughness  by  a  pair  of  intensely  intelH- 
gent  eyes  and  a  mouth  that  displayed  strong  white 
teeth.  It  was  the  somewhat  disconcerting  face  of  a 
clever  woman  to  whom  life  represents  an  undeniable 

206 


THE    GAMBLER 

— if  an  invigorating — struggle.  Seeing  the  little  group 
by  the  doorway,  she  hurried  forward  with  an  almost 
masculine  assurance. 

"You  poor,  dear  people!"  she  exclaimed,  in  her 
strong  voice.  "A  thousand  apologies!  We  were  on 
the  point  of  finishing  a  most  exciting  rubber — "  Her 
voice  broke  off  short  as  her  eyes  rested  on  Clodagh. 

"Who  is  this,  Barny  ?"  she  asked,  interestedly. 

Barnard  stepped  forward,  laying  his  hand  smilingly 
on  Clodagh's  arm, 

"This,  my  dear  Frances,"  he  said,  "is  a  new  friend 
that  I  want  you  to  make.  The  wife  of  an  old  friend 
of  mine.  You  may  have  met  her  husband — Mr.  Mil- 
banke — one  of  the  Somerset  Milbankcs.  Poor  Sammy 
knew  him  well." 

Lady  Frances  Hope  puckered  her  strong,  assertive 
eyebrows. 

"I  believe  I  do  remember  meeting  a  Mr.  Milbanke; 
but  I  scarcely  think — "  She  looked  scrutinizingly 
at  Clodagh. 

"Oh  yes,  it's  the  same!  It's  the  same!"  Bar- 
nard's interruption  was  somewhat  hasty.  "Mr.  Mil- 
banke is  a  great  archaeologist.  He  and  Mrs.  Mil- 
banke are  only  in  Venice  for  a  week.  I  had  intended 
bringing  you  to  call  formally  at  their  hotel,  but  cir- 
cumstances— " 

Here  Clodagh  broke  in. 

"You  must  please,  please  forgive  my  doing  such 
a  very  extraordinary  thing  as  this,"  she  said.  "It 
was  all  Mr.  Barnard's  fault — " 

But  Lady  Frances  Hope  cut  the  explanation 
short  by  holding  out  her  hand. 

"You  are  extremely  welcome,"  she  said,  cordially. 
"And  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  1  owe  you  a  debt  of 
gratitude   for  saving  me   an   afternoon   call.     It's   a 

207 


THE    GAMBLER 

hundred  times  pleasanter  to  meet  like  this.  Now, 
let  me  see!  You  play  bridge,  of  course.  We  can 
make  up  another  four." 

She  glanced  over  her  guests  with  an  organizing 
eye. 

Clodagh  stepped  forward  deprecatingly  and  cast  a 
beseeching  look  at  Barnard.  But  in  the  slight  pause 
that  followed  it  was  Lord  Deerehurst  who  came  to 
her  rescue. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke  has  just  been  confessing  to  us 
that  she  never  plays  cards,"  he  said,  smoothly.  "If 
you  will  go  on  with  your  game,  Lady  Frances,  I  shall 
do  my  best  to  amuse  her." 

He  turned  his  unemotional  glance  from  one  to  the 
other. 

The  surprise  that  his  announcement  had  brought 
to  their  hostess's  face  changed  instantly  to  an  ex- 
pression of  hospitality. 

"No!  No,  indeed!"  she  cried.  "I  would  infi- 
nitely prefer  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Milbanke.  Come!"  she 
added,  smiling  at  Clodagh.  "Come  and  let  me  in- 
troduce you  to  these  bridge-playing  people.  Per- 
haps they  will  convert  you." 

She  laughed,  and,  followed  by  the  four,  moved 
across  the  salon. 

At  their  approach  the  three  at  the  card  -  table — 
two  women  and  a  man — turned  to  look  at  them,  and 
the  latter,  a  square-built,  thick-set  youth,  wearing 
a  pince-nez  and  possessing  a  quick,  inquisitive  man- 
ner, rose  to  his  feet. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,"  said  Lady  Frances,  "this  is  Mr. 
Victor  Luard;  Miss  Luard  ;  Mrs.  Bathurst." 

Luard  bowed,  and  the  two  women  looked  at  Clo- 
dagh, each  acknowledging  the  introduction  after  her 
own  fashion.     Miss  Luard  gave  a  quick,  friendly  nod; 

208 


THE    GAMBLER 

Mrs.  Bathurst  a  slow  and  graceful  inclination  of  the 
head,  accompanied  by  a  faint,  insincere  smile. 

"Are  you  a  bridge-player?"  she  asked,  raising  a 
pair  of  pretty,  languid  brown  eyes  to  Clodagh's.  "I 
wish  so  much  you  would  take  my  place.  I've  been 
having  the  most  appalling  luck." 

Her  glance  wandered  on  to  Serracauld,  Barnard, 
and  Deerehurst. 

"Ah,  here  is  Lord  Deerehurst!"  she  cried,  in  a 
suddenly  animated  voice.  "Lord  Deerehurst,  do 
come  and  tell  me  what  you  would  have  done  with  a 
hand  like  this?" 

She  picked  up  her  scattered  cards  and  began  to 
sort  them;  then,  with  a  graceful  movement,  she  drew 
her  skirts  aside,  and  indicated  a  vacant  chair  that 
stood  beside  her  own. 

Lord  Deerehurst  hesitated,  lifted  his  eye-glass,  and 
scrutinized  her  pretty  pink-and-white  face,  then  lan- 
guidly dropped  into  the  empty  chair.  At  the  same 
moment  Clodagh,  Serracauld,  Luard,  and  his  sister 
fell  into  conversation,  and  Lady  Frances  and  Bar- 
nard moved  away  together  towards  one  of  the  open 
windows. 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  formation  of  the  party 
remained  the  same;  then  a  slight  incident  caused  a 
distraction  in  the  assembly.  Clodagh,  who  had 
shaken  off  her  first  shyness  and  was  beginning  to 
enjoy  the  conversation  of  her  new  acquaintance, 
heard  the  curtain  at  the  arched  entrance  drawn 
back,  and,  looking  round,  was  surprised  to  see  two 
servants  enter,  solemnly  carrying  a  table  and  a 
painted  board  which  they  proceeded  to  set  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  room. 

Her  wonder  and  curiosity  were  depicted   on  her 
face,  for  Luard  looked  at  her  quickly  and  interestedly. 
14  209 


THE    GAMBLER 

"  Don't  you  know  what  that  is,  Mrs.  Milbanke  ?"  he 
asked.  "Hasn't  Barny  told  you  of  Lady  Frances's 
famous  roulette  ?  Lady  Frances!"  he  called.  "  Come 
and  initiate  Mrs.  Milbanke." 

At  the  words  every  one  turned  and  looked  at 
Clodagh.  And  Lord  Deerehurst,  with  a  murmured 
word  to  Mrs.  Bathurst,  rose  and  came  round  the 
card-table. 

"Are  you  going  to  tempt  the  gods?"  he  asked,  in 
his  peculiar  voice. 

Clodagh  looked  round,  a  little  embarrassed  by  the 
general  interest. 

"Well,  I — I  suppose  I  should  like  to  see  roulette 
played,"  she  admitted,  guardedly. 

He  bent  his  head  and  looked  at  her  with  his  cold, 
penetrating  smile. 

"Ah,  I  seel"  he  said,  softly.  "Judicious  reserva- 
tions!" 

But  at  that  moment  Lady  Frances  crossed  the 
room,  and,  pausing  by  the  roulette-table,  set  the  ball 
spinning. 

"Come  along,  people!"  she  cried,  gayly.  "Fort- 
une smiles." 

They  all  laughed  and  strolled  across  the  room. 

"Come  along!"  Lady  Frances  urged  again.  "Come, 
Rose!"  She  smiled  at  Mrs.  Bathurst.  "Unlucky  at 
bridge,  lucky  at  roulette.     Come,  Tory!     Come,Val!" 

She  glanced  from  Luard  to  Serracauld. 

There  was  another  amused  laugh,  and  all  the  party 
with  the  exception  of  Clodagh  stepped  forward  and 
placed  one  or  many  coins  upon  the  table. 

Lady  Frances's  eyes  were  quick  to  detect  the  ex- 
ception. With  her  fingers  poised  above  the  board, 
she  waited  smilingly. 

"Won't  you  stake,  Mrs.  Milbanke?"  she  asked. 

210 


THE    GAMBLER 

Clodagh  blushed,  and  stepped  back  shyly.  At  the 
same  instant  Serracauld  moved  forward  to  her  side. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Milbanke,  but  you  must!"  he  cried. 

Again  confusion  covered  Clodagh,  as  all  eyes  were 
turned  upon  her. 

"No,  please!"  she  said.  "I — I  think  I'd  rather 
not." 

Barnard  laughed  suavely. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke  is  wise,"  he  said.  "She  wants  to 
see  which  way  the  gods  are  pointing." 

"Then  Mrs.  Milbanke  is  unwise.  The  gods  are 
jealous  beings;  we  must  not  treat  them  with  sus- 
picion.    I'll  stake  for  her." 

It  was  Lord  Deerehurst  who  spoke.  And  regard- 
less of  Clodagh's  quick,  half  -  frightened  expostula- 
tion, he  stepped  forward  out  of  the  little  circle  and 
placed  a  gold  coin  on  the  number  thirteen.  A  mo- 
ment later  Lady  Frances  gave  a  short,  amused  laugh, 
and  with  a  dexterous  movement  of  the  fingers  set 
the  ball  whizzing. 

To  Clodagh  it  was  a  supreme — an  extraordinary 
— moment.  Until  Lord  Deerehurst  had  made  the 
stake — until  the  first  click  of  the  spinning  ball  had 
struck  upon  her  ear — she  had  been  conscious  of  only 
one  feeling:  a  prejudiced,  innate  dread  of  every 
game  —  whether  of  chance  or  skill  —  upon  which 
money  could  be  staked;  but  the  simple  placing  of 
the  coin,  the  simple  turning  of  the  pivot  had  marked 
for  her  a  psychological  epoch.  From  that  moment 
her  feelings  changed.  With  a  quick  catching  of  the 
breath,  she  stepped  involuntarily  forward,  aware  of 
but  one  fact — the  keen,  exhilarating  knowledge  that 
the  stopping  of  the  ball  must  mean  loss  or  gain — in- 
dividual loss  or  gain. 

During  the  dozen  seconds  that  it  spun  round  the 

211 


THE    GAMBLER 

circle  she  stood  transfixed;  then  a  faint  sound  of 
uncontrollable  excitement  slipped  from  between  her 
lips.     Hers  was  the  winning  number! 

As  in  a  dream,  she  extended  her  hand,  and  took 
the  little  heap  of  money  from  the  fingers  of  Luard, 
who  had  come  to  Lady  Frances's  assistance;  then,  on 
the  instant  that  the  coins  touched  her  palm,  her  ex- 
citement evaporated,  her  sense  of  elation  fell  away, 
to  be  succeeded  by  the  first  instinctive  shrinking  that 
had  swayed  her  imagination. 

Acting  purely  upon  impulse,  she  turned  to  Lord 
Deerehurst.  and,  before  hie  could  remonstrate,  pressed 
the  money  into  his  hand. 

"Please  take  it!"  she  said,  urgently.  "  Please  take 
it !  It  isn't  mine.  It  oughtn't  to  be  mine.  I — I  don't 
wish  to  play." 


XXII 

THE    little   incident,  trivial  in  itself,  damped  the 
general  ardor  for  roulette.     After  a  dozen  turns 
of  the  wheel,  Lady  Frances  declared  herself  satisfied. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke  has  regenerated  us — for  the  mo- 
ment!" she  cried.  "I  can't  play  roulette  to-night. 
But  our  turn  will  come,  Mrs.  Milbanke.  We  will  be 
revenged  on  you." 

Her  shrewd,  smiling  glance  passed  rapidly  over 
Clodagh's  face. 

Again  the  whole  company  laughed. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke  is  a  feminine  Sir  Galahad,"  said 
Luard.  "  By-the-way,  Lady  Frances,  when  i^  jur  irre- 
proachable knight  to  honor  Venice  with  his  presence  ?" 

He  turned  and  looked  banteringly  at  his  hostess. 

Lady  Frances  smiled. 

"Oh,  any  day  now,"  she  returned.  "But  ain't 
you  rather  incorrigible?" 

"So  Sir  Galahad  thinks,"  he  retorted,  unabashed. 
"Is  he  an  acquaintance  of  yours,  Mrs.  Milbanke?" 

Clodagh  smiled  uncertainly,  and  Lady  Frances 
laughed. 

"  How  ridiculous  of  you  to  expect  Mrs.  Milbanke 
to  read  your  riddles!"  she  said,  sharply.  "The  per- 
son this  very  disrespectful  young  man  is  speaking  of, 
Mrs.  Milbanke,  is  Sir  Walter  Gore — " 

"The  most  admirable  Sir  Walter  Gore!"  inter- 
jected Luard. 

213 


THE    GAMBLER 

Lady  Frances's  sallow  face  flushed  very  slightly. 

"Sir  Walter  Gore,"  she  went  on,  ignoring  the  in- 
terruption, "who  is  only  twenty-nine — has  been  ten 
times  round  the  world  —  and  is  imbued  with  the 
deepest  contempt  for  all  modem  social  things." 

She  laughed  again  as  she  finished;  but  a  fleeting 
change  of  expression  had  passed  over  her  strong 
face. 

Clodagh  looked  up  smilingly. 

"And  where  is  the  likeness  to  me?"  she  asked. 

"Oh, you  are  both  above  mere  human  temptations, 
Mrs.  Milbanke,"  Luard  broke  in,  irrepressibly. 

Lord  Deerehurst,  who  had  been  listening  to  the 
conversation,  lifted  his  eye-glass. 

"But  then  Sir  Walter  Gore  has  been  ten  times 
round  the  world,"  he  remarked,  in  his  thin,  dry 
voice.  "And  this  is  Mrs.  Milbanke's  first  visit  to 
Venice." 

Again  they  all  laughed,  and  Clodagh  colored. 

"You  think  my  stoicism  would  not  wear  well?" 
she  asked. 

Deerehurst  looked  at  her  searchingly. 

"Stoicism  may  be  born  of  many  characteristics," 
he  said.  "I  am  not  in  a  position  to  say  from  what 
yours  springs.  But" — he  lowered  his  voice — "I  do 
not  think  you  are  a  natural  stoic." 

She  laughed  and  glanced  uneasily  round  the  little 
company,  already  beginning  to  break  up  into  groups 
of  two  and  three. 

Observing  the  look,  Lady  Frances  turned  to  her 
tactfully. 

"Come,  Lord  Deerehurst!"  she  cried.  "We  are 
getting  too  serious.  If  you  must  philosophize,  take 
Mrs.  Milbanke  on  to  the  balcony,  where  she  will 
have  something  to  distract  her  thoughts.     For  my- 

214 


THE    GAMBLER 

self,  I  want  to  hear  Valentine  sin^'.  Val!"  she  called. 
"Come  to  the  piano  and  make  some  music.  I'm 
surfeited  with  stringed  instruments  and  Italian 
voices." 

She  moved  across  the  salon,  and  Lord  Decrehurst 
turned  to  Clodagh. 

"May  I  follow  our  hostess's  suggestion?  May  I 
talk  philosophy  on  the  balcony?" 

She  smiled.  The  slight  strain,  of  which  she  had 
been  conscious  ever  since  the  incident  of  the  roulette, 
lifted  suddenly  and  her  earlier  sensation  of  elated 
excitement  returned. 

"Yes,  if  you  like,"  she  responded,  brightly.  "The 
balcony  sounds  very  tempting.  And  as  for  your 
philosophy,  I  can  promise  to  listen — if  I  can't  prom- 
ise to  understand." 

She  smiled  afresh,  and  crossed  the  wide  room, 
Decrehurst  following  closely. 

As  she  passed  the  group  of  statuary  and  stepped 
through  the  open  window,  Serracauld  struck  a  chord 
or  two  on  the  piano,  and  an  instant  later  his  voice — 
a  full,  strong  voice,  intensely  passionate  and  youthful 
— drifted  across  the  salon  and  out  into  the  night. 

At  the  first  note  Clodagh  halted,  surprised  and 
enchanted  by  the  sound,  and,  sinking  silently  into 
one  of  the  balcony  chairs,  rested  one  arm  on  the  iron 
railing. 

The  music  Serracauld  sang  was  French,  and  pos- 
sessed much  of  the  distinction  that  marks  that  na- 
tion's art.  The  song  was  a  hymn  to  life — and  its  in- 
dispensable coadjutors  youth  and  love;  and  it  went 
with  a  peculiar  lilt  that  stirred  the  blood  and  stim- 
ulated the  fancy.  He  sang  it  as  it  should  be  sung — 
easily  and  arrogantly;  for,  as  frequently  happens 
with  musicians,  he  could  express  in  music  thoughts, 

215 


THE    GAMBLER 

ideas,  and  emotions  that  never  crossed  his  own  selfish, 
somewhat  narrow  soul. 

Clodagh,  staring  down  into  the  dark  waters  in  an 
attitude  of  rapt  attention,  drank  in  the  song  to  its 
last  note,  and,  as  the  final  vibration  died  away,  she 
looked  round  at  Deerehurst  with  an  expression  in- 
finitely softened  and  enhanced. 

"How  beautiful!"  she  said.  "Oh,  how  beauti- 
ful!" 

Without  replying  he  sank  into  a  chair  that  stood 
close  to  hers,  and  in  his  turn  laid  his  arms  upon  the 
balcony  railing. 

"It  is  not  the  song  that  is  beautiful,  Mrs.  Mil- 
banke,"  he  said  at  last,  "but  the  thoughts  it  has 
awakened  in  you." 

Clodagh  looked  at  him  in  silent  question.  She 
was  still  under  the  spell  of  the  music,  and  saw  nothing 
to  fear  in  his  cold  gaze. 

"You  were  the  instrument,"  he  went  on,  in  the 
same  lowered  voice.  "The  notes  were  not  played 
upon  the  piano,  but  upon  your  brain.  Your  brain  is 
a  net-work  of  sensitive  strings,  waiting  to  be  played 
on  by  every  factor  in  life — music,  color,  sunshine, 
emotion — "     His  tone  sank. 

Clodagh  glanced  quickly  at  his  tall,  thin  figure 
seated  so  close  to  her  own,  and  at  the  waxlike,  in- 
scrutable face  showing  through  the  dusk. 

"You  seem  to  know  me  better  than  I  know  my- 
self," she  said,  uncertainly. 

He  watched  her  intently  for  a  moment;  then  he 
leaned  forward,  his  long,  pale  fingers  toying  with  the 
ribbon  of  his  eye-glass. 

"I  do  know  you  better  than  5^ou  know  yourself." 

She  gave  a  little,  embarrassed  laugh. 

"Then  enlighten  me." 

216 


THE    GAMBLER 

Again  ho  seemed  to  study  her;  then  he  leaned  back 
in  his  chair  with  a  decisive  movement. 

"No,"  he  said.  "No.  Not  now.  In  a  year — or 
two — or  even  three,  perhaps.     But  not  now." 

She  laughed  again,  and  unconsciously  a  note  of 
relief  underran  her  laugh— a  relief  that,  by  a  natural 
sequence  of  emotion,  brought  a  fresh  reaction  to 
the  coquetry  of  an  hour  ago. 

With  a  quick  turn  of  the  head  she  looked  up  at 
him. 

"But  how  shall  I  find  you  in  a  year — or  two — or 
three?" 

She  was  distinctly  conscious  that  the  words  held 
a  challenge;  but  the  thought  was  fraught  with  the 
new  intoxication  that  the  evening  had  begotten. 

With  a  swift  movement  he  bent  close  to  her. 

"The  world  is  very  small,  Mrs.  Milbanke — when 
one  desires  to  make  it  so." 

In  the  half  -  light  of  the  balcony  his  pale  eyes 
seemed  to  search  hers. 

Involuntarily  she  blushed,  but  her  glance  met  his 
steadily  enough. 

"Not  until  one  has  been  ten  times  round  it," 
she  reminded  him. 

He  laughed  his  thin,  amused  laugh;  then  suddenly 
he  became  grave  again. 

"Don't  you  feel,"  he  said,  "that  when  we  desire  a 
thing  very  greatly,  our  own  will  power  may  bend 
circumstances  ?" 

Her  eyes  faltered,  and  her  gaze  moved  to  the  gon- 
dolas flitting  silently  below  them. 

"  I  think  I  have  given  up  desiring  things  greatly," 
she  said,  in  a  low,  uneven  voice. 

Deerehurst's  eyelids  narrowed. 

"Would  it  be  presumptuous  to  ask  why?" 

217 


THE    GAMBLER 

"No.     Oh  no!" 

" But  you  will  not  throw  light  upon  my  darkness?" 

She  turned  her  head,  and  once  more  her  gaze  rested 
on  his  face. 

"No,"  she  said,  softly,  "it  isn't  that.  It  is  that  I 
don't  believe  I  could  enlighten  you — even  if  I  would. 
I  am  a  puzzle  to  myself." 

"The  deeper  a  riddle,  the  more  tempting  its  solu- 
tion." 

Very  quietly  he  drew  still  nearer,  until  his  foot 
touched  the  hem  of  her  skirt. 

The  action,  more  than  the  words,  startled  her. 
With  a  little  laugh  she  drew  back  into  her  seat. 

"Perhaps  it  is  no  riddle,  after  all,"  she  said,  quick- 
ly. "Perhaps  it  is  the  lack  of  human  nature — the 
likeness  to  Mr.  Luard's  'Sir  Galahad.'" 

She  laughed  again ,  nervously .  Then  suddenly  her 
own  words  suggested  to  her  a  new  and  less  dangerous 
channel  of  talk. 

"When  is  this  wonderful  person  to  be  in  Venice?" 
she  asked.     "I  am  curious  to  see  him." 

But  Lord  Deerehurst  had  no  intention  of  allowing 
another  man's  name  to  interfere  with  his  pleasure. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "may  I  ask 
you  another  question — a  serious  one?" 

"Not  till  you've  answered  mine." 

"But  this  is  personal — personal  to  you  and  me. 
The  other  is  not." 

He  bent  over  her  chair,  and,  seemingly  by  acci- 
dent, his  hand  brushed  her  sleeve. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke—" 

But  even  as  his  thin  voice  articulated  her  name  a 
shadow  fell  across  the  lighted  window  behind  them, 
and  Serracauld,  characteristically  easy  and  non- 
chalant in  his  movements,  stepped  on  to  the  balcony. 

218 


THE    GAMBLER 

Clodagh  turned  with  a  short,  faint  laugh.  The 
beating  of  her  heart  was  uneven,  and  her  face  felt 
hot. 

"Mr.  Serracauld,"  she  said,  impulsively,  "when  is 
Sir  Walter  Gore  coming  to  Venice  ?  I  have  been 
asking  Lord  Deerehurst,  but  he  cannot — or  will  not 
—tell  me." 

Deerehurst,  who  at  his  nephew's  approach  had 
drawn  quietly  back  into  his  seat,  looked  up  with 
perfect  composure. 

"Yes,  Valentine,"  he  said,  smoothly,  "I  believe 
Gore  has  been  making  an  impression  by  proxy." 

Serracauld  laughed. 

"Really!"  he  said.  "How  interesting!  I  shall 
look  forward  to  the  meeting  in  the  flesh." 

Again  he  laughed,  as  at  something  intensely  amus- 
ing. And  as  Clodagh  turned  towards  him  doubt- 
fully, she  saw  him  shoot  one  swift,  satirical  glance  at 
his  uncle. 

"Why?"  she  asked,  quickly.  "Why  should  our 
meeting  be  interesting?" 

Once  more  a  vague  sense  of  antagonism  assailed 
her — a  vague  distrust  of  this  new  atmosphere. 

Serracauld  answered  her  at  once  in  his  light,  in- 
gratiating tone. 

"For  no  reason,  Mrs.  Milbanke,  that  you  can  possi- 
bly cavil  at." 

"But  for  what  reason?"  Her  glance  rested  in- 
quiringly on  his  face.  "Do  tell  me.  I  hate  things 
that  I  cannot  understand." 

Deerehurst  smiled  a  little  cynically. 

"A  very  youthful  sentiment,"  he  murmured. 
"The  older  one  grows,  the  more  one  seeks  the  in- 
comprehensible." 

His  eyes  rested  upon  her  with  a  fixed  regard. 

219 


THE    GAMBLER 

For  a  space  she  sat  very  still,  attempting  no  re- 
joinder. Then,  as  if  suddenly  moved  to  decisive  ac- 
tion, she  rose  and  turned  towards  the  lighted  salon. 

"It's  very  late,"  she  said,  quickly.  "I  must  think 
about  getting  home." 

Serracauld  stepped  aside,  and  Deerehurst,  who 
had  risen  with  her,  moved  forward. 

But  with  a  swift  gesture  that  ignored  them  both, 
she  crossed  the  balcony  and  stepped  through  the 
open  window. 

After  she  had  left  them  the  two  men  stood  for  a 
moment  looking  at  each  other;  then,  with  an  elab- 
orately careless  gesture,  Lord  Deerehurst  raised  his 
eye-glass  and  peered  out  across  the  dark  canal. 

"Rather  a  pleasant  little  gathering  to-night,"  he 
said,  casually.  "Rose  Bathurst  looks  particularly 
well.     Don't  you  think  so?" 

Serracauld's  lips  parted,  then  pursed  themselves 
together,  while  he  cast  one  comprehensive  glance  at 
his  uncle's  stiff  back. 

"Oh  yes.  Yes.  Quite,"  he  rejoined,  vaguely ;  then 
very  swiftly  he  turned  and  hurried  across  the  salon 
after  Clodagh. 

She  was  bidding  her  hostess  good  -  night  as  he 
reached  her  side,  and  his  attentive  glance  noted  her 
heightened  color  and  her  nervously  alert  manner. 

"To-morrow  night,  then,"  Lady  Frances  was  say- 
ing, and  he  saw  Clodagh  nod  and  smile. 

"To-morrow  night,"  she  repeated.  "Mr.  Bar- 
nard, are  you  ready?" 

As  she  looked  round  for  her  cavalier,  Serracauld 
stepped  softly  to  her  side. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  "you  will  not  discard 
my  uncle's  gondola?  He  is  waiting  to  know  if  we 
may  convey  you  home." 

220 


THE    GAMBLER 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  faint  suggestion  of 
coldness  and  distrust.  Then,  across  the  silence  of 
her  indecision,  the  low,  thrilling  notes  of  the  Venetian 
night  music  broke  forth  again,  as  the  musicians'  gon- 
dola passed  the  Palazzo  Ugochini  on  its  way  home- 
ward. Astonishingly  near  in  its  poignant  sweetness, 
it  seemed  to  literally  sweep  across  the  salon  through 
the  open  windows.  At  the  sound  her  face  involun- 
tarily softened,  her  lips  parted,  and  she  smiled. 

"Very  well,"   she    acquiesced,   below  her   breath 
"Tell  Lord  Deerehurst  that  he  may  take  me  home." 


XXIII 

DURING  the  night  that  followed,  Clodagh's  ex- 
cited thoughts  scarcely  permitted  her  any  sleep; 
but  with  that  extraordinary  reserve  of  strength  that 
springs  from  the  combination  of  youth  and  health, 
she  rose  next  morning  as  fresh  and  untired  as  though 
she  had  enjoyed  unbroken  rest. 

Coming  down-stairs  at  half-past  eight,  the  first 
person  she  encountered  was  Milbanke  entering  the 
hotel  from  the  terrace;  and  spurred  by  her  own 
exuberant  spirits,  roused  to  a  sense  of  general  good- 
will by  her  own  rosy  outlook  upon  life,  she  went 
quickly  forward  to  greet  him. 

"Good -morning,  James,"  she  said.  "I  hope  you 
haven't  been  tiring  yourself?" 

It  struck  her  as  an  after  impression  that  he  looked 
slightly  worn  and  fatigued. 

As  he  took  her  hand  he  smiled,  gratified  by  her 
concern. 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear,"  he  responded.  "Not  at  all. 
I  have  had  an  hour's  excursion  with  Mr.  Tomes.  I 
assure  you  I  had  no  idea  that  the  byways  of  Venice 
were  so  interesting.     No  idea  whatever!" 

"All  Venice  is  heavenly." 

Clodagh's  glance  wandered  across  the  terrace  to 
the  canal,  radiant  in  the  early  light. 

Milbanke  raised  his  head,  arrested  by  the  fervor 
of  her  tone. 

222 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Then  you — you  enjoyed  yourself  last  night?"  he 
ventured,  with  unusual  penetration. 

"Oh,  so  much!"  She  turned  to  him  with  a  glow- 
ing smile  that  betrayed  a  warm  desire  for  universal 
confidence  and  sympathy.  "So  much!  Mr.  Bar- 
nard and  the  tall,  dark-haired  boy  that  you  met  last 
evening  took  me  all  round  the  canals  in  the  most 
beautiful  gondola  belonging  to  Lord  Deerehurst. 
We  saw  all  the  interesting  people  from  the  hotels 
and  heard  the  music,  and  afterwards  Mr.  Barnard 
brought  me  to  the  Palazzo  Ugochini  and  introduced 
me  to  Lady  Frances  Hope.  She  was  charmingly 
kind  and  hospitable,  and  made  me  promise  to  go 
again  to-night — and  to  bring  you." 

Milbanke's  face  fell. 

"  But,  my  dear — "  he  began,  deprecatingly. 

"Oh,  you  must  come!  You  must!  Lady  Frances 
Hope  feels  sure  she  has  met  you  before.  You  must 
come!" 

Milbanke  looked  distressed. 

"But,  my  dear—" 

"Yes,  I  know  you  hate  society.  But  just  this 
once — I — I  wish  you  to  come — " 

She  made  the  appeal  with  a  sudden  anxious  gesture, 
bom  of  a  very  subtle,  a  very  instinctive  motive — a 
motive  that  had  for  its  basis  an  obscure  and  quite 
unacknowledged  sense  of  self-protection. 

Milbanke — materialist  born — heard  only  the  words, 
noting  nothing  of  the  undermeaning. 

"But,  my  dear,"  he  expostulated,  "the  thing  is — 
is  impossible.  Mr.  Angelo  Tomes  has  promised  to 
expound  his  theories  to  me  after  dinner  to-night — " 

He  looked  at  her  nervouslv. 

She  was  silent  for  a  minute  or  two — suddenly  and 
profoundly  conscious  that,  in  all  the  radiant  glory  of 

223 


THE    GAMBLER 

her  surroundings,  she  stood  alone.  At  the  painful 
consciousness  she  felt  her  throat  swell,  but,  with  a 
defiant  refusal  to  be  conquered  by  her  feelings,  she 
gave  a  quick,  high  laugh. 

"Oh,  very  well!"  she  cried.  "Very  well!  As 
you  like!" 

And  without  looking  at  him  again  she  turned  and 
entered  the  coffee-room  of  the  hotel. 

Having  partaken  of  her  morning  meal  with  a  haste 
that  betokened  unruly  emotions,  she  returned  to 
the  terrace,  where — among  the  other  early  loungers — 
she  found  Barnard  reading  his  English  newspapers. 
Seeing  her,  he  threw  the  papers  down,  jumped  to  his 
feet,  and  came  forward  with  evident  pleasure. 

"Good-morning,"  he  said,  cordially.  "Good-morn- 
ing. You  look  as  fresh  as  a  flower  after  last  night's 
dissipation." 

She  took  his  hand  and  met  his  suave  smile  with  a 
sense  of  relief. 

"Good-morning,"  she  returned,  softly.  "  Have  you 
seen  James?     He  breakfasted  hours  ago." 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "Oh  yes!  I  was  talking  to  him 
just  now.     He  has  gone  to  write  letters." 

"To  write  letters!" 

There  was  no  curiosity  and  very  little  interest 
audible  in  Clodagh's  tone. 

"So  he  said.  And  you!  What  are  you  going  to 
do?" 

She  looked  up  and  smiled  again. 

"To  idle,"  she  said.  "I  have  a  hereditary  gift 
for  idling." 

Barnard  smiled,  then  glanced  along  the  terrace 
with  an  air  of  pretended  secrecy. 

"Take  me  into  partnership!"  he  said,  in  a  whisper. 
"My  clients  don't  know  it,  but  I'm  constitutionally 

224 


THE    GAMBLER 

the  laziest  beggar  alive.  Do  let  me  idle  in  your  com- 
pany for  half  an  hour?  The  canals  arc  dclighlful  in 
the  early  morning — " 

He  indicated  the  flight  of  stone  steps  round  which 
one  or  two  gondolas  were  hovering  in  expectation  of 
a  fare. 

Clodagh's  glance  followed  his,  and  her  face  in- 
sensibly brightened. 

"I  should  love  it,"  she  said. 

"Truly?" 

She  nodded. 

"Right!     Then  the  thing  is  done." 

He  hurried  forward.  And  with  a  little  thrill  of 
pleasurable  anticipation,  Clodagh  saw  one  of  the 
loitering  gondolas  glide  up  to  the  steps. 

For  the  first  few  moments  after  they  had  entered 
the  boat  she  was  silent,  for  in  the  iridescent  morning 
light  Venice  made  a  new  appeal;  then  gradually — 
insidiously — as  the  charm  of  her  surroundings  began 
to  soothe  her  senses,  the  encounter  with  Milbanke 
melted  from  her  mind,  and  the  subtle  environment 
bred  of  last  night's  adulation  rose  again,  turning  the 
world  golden. 

As  they  passed  the  Palazzo  Ugochini  she  looked 
up  at  the  closed  windows  of  the  first  floor;  then  al- 
most immediately  she  turned  to  her  companion. 

"Mr.  Barnard,"  she  said,  suddenly.  "I  want  to 
ask  you  a  question.  I  want  you  to  explain  some- 
thing. 

And  Barnard,  closely  studious  of  her  demeanor, 
felt  insensibly  that  her  mood  had  changed — that,  by 
a  fine  connection  of  suggestions,  she  was  not  the 
same  being  who  had  stepped  into  the  gondola  from 
the  hotel  steps.  With  a  genial  movement  he  bent 
his  head. 

IS  225 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Command  me,"  he  said. 

Before  replying,  she  took  another  swift  glance  at 
the  closed  windows;  then  she  turned  again  and  met 
his  eyes. 

"Tell  me  why  Sir  Walter  Gore  is  called  'Sir  Gala- 
had.'" 

He  smiled. 

"Gore?"  he  said,  with  slightly  amused  surprise. 
"I  didn't  know  you  were  interested  in  Gore." 

"  I  am  not.     But  please  tell  me.     I  want  to  know." 

His  smile  broadened. 

"The  nickname  surely  explains  itself." 

"Somebody  with  an  ideal?  Somebody  above 
temptation  ?" 

"Precisely." 

She  pondered  over  this  reply  for  a  moment,  then 
she  opened  a  fresh  attack. 

"Then  why  should  Lord  Deerehurst  and  Mr.  Ser- 
racauld  have  smiled  when  they  spoke  of  his  meeting 
me?" 

Barnard  looked  up  in  unfeigned  astonishment,  then 
he  laughed. 

"Upon  my  word,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  cried,  "you 
are  absolutely  unique!" 

Clodagh  flushed.  For  one  second  she  wavered  on 
the  borderland  of  deep  offence;  then  her  mood — her 
sense  of  the  ridiculous  and  the  sunny  atmosphere  of 
the  morning — conquered.  She  responded  with  a  clear, 
ringing  laugh. 

"I  suppose  I'm  not  like  other  people,"  she  said. 

"For  which  you  should  say  grace  every  hour  of 
your  life."  Barnard  turned  and  looked  into  her  glow- 
ing face.  "But  I'll  satisfy  your  curiosity.  Gore  is 
known  in  his  own  set  as  a  man  who  obstinately — 
and  against  all  reason — refuses  to  believe  in — well, 

226 


THE    GAMBLER 

for  instance,  in  the  interesting  young  married  wom- 
an." 

Clodagh's  lips  parted. 

"But  what — "  she  began,  impetuously;  then  she 
stopped. 

Barnard  continued  to  look  at  her. 

"Isn't  the  inference  of  the  simile  somewhat  ob- 
vious?" 

Her  glance  fell. 

"Oh!"  she  said.    "Oh,  I  suppose — I  suppose  I  see." 

"Precisely." 

"But  surely — "  she  began  afresh;  then  again  in- 
tuition interfered,  though  this  time  to  a  different 
end.  It  was  not  the  moment — it  was  not  the  atmos- 
phere— in  which  to  parade  one's  sentiments.  With 
the  too  ready  facility  of  her  countrymen  to  adapt 
themselves  to  environment,  she  laughed  suddenly  and 
gayly  at  her  own  passing  prudery,  and  raised  a  bright 
face  to  Barnard's. 

"And  when  he  meets  these  interesting  young 
married  women  ?"  she  asked. 

"Ah,  there  he  dubs  himself  'Sir  Galahad.'  He 
is  never  discourteous  to  exacting  sirens — never  bored 
— never  unfriendly.  He  simply  declines  to  be  af- 
fected by  their  singing.  Some  people  call  him  a 
saint  for  keeping  his  eyes  on  the  ground;  others  call 
him  a  sinner  for  not  picking  up  what  he  sees  there. 
In  reality,  he  is  neither  sinner  nor  saint,  but  just  that 
enviable  creation — a  man  who  is  self-sufficing." 

While  he  spoke,  and  for  some  time  after  he  had 
ceased  to  speak,  Clodagh  sat  silent.  She  was  leaning 
over  the  side  of  the  gondola  and  looking  down  into 
the  calm  water,  her  warm  face  set  into  a  strange  ex- 
pression ,  her  hazel  eyes  half  closed.  At  last  she  spoke, 
but  without  raising  her  head. 

227 


THE     GAMBLER 

"And  you  are  all  waiting  for  the  person  who  will 
make  him  see  the  need  for  some  one  else?" 

She  waited  for  Barnard's  answer,  but  it  did  not 
come.  Sensitive  to  the  silence,  she  raised  her  head. 
Then  her  self-consciousness  left  her,  superseded  by 
curiosity.  As  she  looked  up  she  saw  her  companion 
lean  forward  and  wave  a  cheerful  greeting  to  the  oc- 
cupant of  a  gondola  approaching  them  from  the 
direction  of  the  railway  station.  Involuntarily  she 
changed  her  position,  and  her  glance  followed  his. 

The  passing  of  the  two  gondolas  occupied  no  more 
than  a  couple  of  minutes.  But  the  incidents  com- 
prised in  some  minutes  remain  with  us  all  our  lives. 
The  approaching  boat  was  a  large  one,  rowed  by  two 
gondoliers,  for,  though  it  had  only  one  passenger,  it 
carried  a  pile  of  luggage,  much  travel-worn.  Clo- 
dagh's  eyes  noted  this,  but  they  did  so  very  briefly; 
for  instantly  the  gondola  drew  level  with  her  own, 
her  glance  lifted  itself  to  the  owner  of  the  lug- 
gage—  the  man  to  whom  Barnard  had  waved  his 
greeting. 

She  saw  him  with  great  distinctness,  for  the  early 
light  in  Italy  is  peculiarly  penetrating,  and  her  first 
thought — a  purely  instinctive  one — was  that  he  pos- 
sessed a  sailor's  face.  His  strong,  clean-cut  features 
suggested  a  keen  and  intimate  relationship  with 
natural  elements;  his  healthily  clear  skin  was  tanned 
by  sun  and  wind ;  and  his  eyes  looked  out  upon  the 
world  with  the  quiet  reliance  that  seems  a  reflection 
of  the  steadfast  ocean.  The  first  impression  of  the 
man  was  vaguely  daunting.  There  was  something 
self-contained,  even  cold,  in  the  erect  pose  of  his 
tall,  muscular  figure.  Then,  quite  unexpectedly,  his 
critic  gained  a  new  impression  of  him.  As  the  gon- 
dolas passed  each   other  he   leaned  forward  in  his 

228 


THE    GAMBLER 

seat,  and  his  thin,  clean-shaven  lips  parted  in  a  very 
pleasant  smile. 

"Ubiquitous  as  usual,  Barnard,"  he  called,  in  a 
strong,  fresh  voice.  "I  might  have  known  you 
would  be  the  first  man  I  should  run  across." 

He  raised  his  cap,  and  Clodagh  saw  that  his  hair 
was  crisp,  close-cut,  and  very  fair,  giving  an  agreeable 
touch  of  youthfulness  to  his  sunburned  face. 

Barnard  laughed,  and  responded  with  some  words 
of  welcome. 

The  stranger  smiled  and  nodded. 

"Come  round  and  see  me  this  afternoon,"  he  cried, 
as  the  gondolas  drew  apart.  "I'm  staying  at  the 
Franieh." 

"Who  was  that?"  Clodagh  asked,  involuntarily, 
as  the  stranger's  boat  glided  out  of  sight.  Then  she 
blushed  suddenly.  "Why  are  you  laughing?"  she 
demanded. 

Barnard  smiled. 

"I  am  not  laughing,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  mur- 
mured. "I  assure  you  I  am  not  laughing.  It  is  the 
merest  smile  at  nature's  little  bit  of  stage  manage- 
ment. That  interestingly  bronzed  young  Englishman 
is  Sir  Walter  Gore." 


XXIV 

THIS  little  incident — this  small  and  yet  significant 
interlude — in  Clodagh's  day  of  new -bom  free- 
dom, possessed  a  weight  and  an  importance  all  its 
own.  It  is  quite  possible  that,  taken  as  a  mere  note 
in  the  tuneful,  inconsequent  symphony  of  her  social 
life  in  Venice,  Barnard's  expression  of  his  sentiments 
might  have  glanced  across  her  mind,  leaving  no  defi- 
nite impression.  But  the  web  of  fate  is  wonderfully 
woven.  Barnard  had  propounded  those  sentiments 
through  the  medium  of  a  name — a  name  which  was 
to  be  indelibly  printed  upon  Clodagh's  memory  by 
the  strangely  opportune  appearance  of  its  owner. 

At  the  moment  when  the  gondolas  passed — at  the 
moment  when  Barnard  laughingly  explained  the 
stranger's  identity,  the  name  of  Walter  Gore  took  on 
a  new  significance — became  a  personal,  concrete  ele- 
ment in  touch  with  her  own  existence. 

In  studying  the  effect  of  this  incident  upon  her  ac- 
tions, it  must  be  borne  closely  in  mind  that  Clodagh's 
moral  position  was  strangely  incongruous — a  position 
to  which  not  one  among  her  new  acquaintances  possess- 
ed a  key.  She  was  a  married  woman  with  the  vitality, 
the  curiosity,  the  sense  of  adventure  of  a  girl  in  her 
first  season.  She  was  like  a  plant  that,  having  been 
shut  for  long  in  dark  places,  is  suddenly  exposed  to 
the  influences  of  warmth  and  light.  She  glowed,  she 
blossomed,  she  expanded  under  every  passing  touch. 

230 


THE    GAMBLER 

As  r.hc  leaned  back  against  the  cushions  of  the 
gondola  and  met  the  amused  and  quizzical  glance  that 
accompanied  Barnard's  explanation,  her  thoughts 
sprang  forward  under  a  certain  stimulus  of  excite- 
ment; her  blood — the  blood  of  a  reckless,  adventur- 
ous race — leaped  suddenly  in  response  to  a  new  idea. 
She  looked  up  at  her  companion,  her  face  glowing,  her 
hands  clasped  lightly  in  her  lap. 

"Mr.  Barnard,"  she  said,  "will  Sir  Walter  Gore 
be  at  the  Palazzo  Ugochini  to-night?" 

Barnard  met  her  glance.  For  a  moment  he  studied 
her  whimsically,  then  he  responded  by  putting  a  ques- 
tion of  his  own. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  asked,  "is  it  true  that  when 
you  dare  an  Irishman  to  do  a  certain  thing  that 
thing  is  as  good  as  done?" 

Clodagh's  lashes  fluttered  and  she  colored  hotly; 
then  with  the  naive  defiance,  the  intoxication  of 
youthful  assurance,  she  lifted  her  eyes  again  and 
gave  another  bright,  clear  laugh. 

"Two  unanswered  questions  should  be  as  good  as 
one  reply,"  she  said,  looking  straight  into  his  face. 

All  that  day  Clodagh  went  about  her  concerns  with 
a  delightful,  furtive  sense  of  things  to  come.  In  the 
evening  she  came  down  to  dinner  arrayed  in  a  dress 
of  lace  and  embroidery  that  had  come  from  Vienna 
only  three  weeks  before.  The  dress  possessed  sweep- 
ing lines  that  defined  her  slight  and  rounded  figure; 
and  above  the  jewelled  lace  of  the  bodice  her  slight, 
graceful  shoulders,  smooth  as  ivory,  and  as  wann  in 
tone,  showed  bare  of  any  ornament.  The  faint  olive 
of  her  skin  was  enriched  by  the  neutral  color  of  her 
dress,  and  in  the  bright  light  of  the  hotel  rooms  the 
underlying  gleam  of  gold  was  distinctly  visible  in  her 

231 


THE    GAMBLER 

brown  hair.  Her  whole  appearance  as  she  entered 
the  dining-room  was  subtly  attractive,  and  in  every 
detail  of  her  expression  pleasure  and  anticipation 
gleamed  like  tangible  things.  From  the  color  that 
wavered  in  her  cheeks,  the  dilated  pupils  that  turned 
her  eyes  from  hazel  to  black,  she  was  the  living  em- 
bodiment of  eager  expectation. 

Neither  Deerehurst,  Serracauld,  nor  Barnard  dined 
at  the  hotel  that  night,  but  from  the  eyes  of  more 
than  one  stranger  she  read  the  assurance  that  she  had 
not  arrayed  herself  in  vain ;  and  youthfully  conscious 
of  a  subtle,  impersonal  success,  her  eager  spirits  rose 
high. 

Regardless  of  Milbanke's  monosyllabic  answers, 
she  kept  up  a  stream  of  conversation ;  and  at  last, 
when  she  rose  with  the  general  company,  she  did  not 
leave  the  room,  but  paused  with  her  hand  on  the  back 
of  his  chair. 

"I  am  going  for  my  cloak,  James,"  she  said. 
"Mr.  Barnard  is  to  call  for  me.  Shall  we  say  good- 
night now?"  Her  face,  as  she  bent  forward,  leaning 
over  his  shoulder,  was  filled  with  a  bright  preoccu- 
pation. 

The  scene  was  no  new  one — nor  was  its  lesson  new. 
It  merely  expounded  the  eternal  disparity  between 
the  present  generation  and  the  past.  On  the  one 
hand  was  the  patient  surrender  of  the  being  who  has 
known  life  with  its  poor  compensations  and  its  tardy 
requitals;  on  the  other,  the  impatience,  the  ardor, 
the  egotism  of  the  being  who  longs  to  know — to  tear 
the  bandage  from  his  blind,  curious  eyes;  to  shake 
the  fetters  from  his  eager,  groping  hands.  It  was 
a  scene  that  is  enacted  every  day  of  every  year  by 
fathers  and  daughters,  mothers  and  sons.  A  scene 
in  which,  daily  and  yearly,  a  merciful  nature  miti- 

232 


THE    GAMBLER 

gates  the  tragic  truth  by  means  of  a  blessed  sanity — 
an  instinctive  renunciation.  But  this  was  no  case  for 
natural  healing  balm;  this  was  no  case  of  father  and 
daughter — but  of  husband  and  wife. 

"Shall  we  say  good-night ?"  Clodagh  asked  again. 

Milbanke  started  and  looked  up,  and  something  in 
her  warm  beauty,  something  in  her  gracious  youth, 
affected  him. 

"Clodagh,"  he  said,  timidly.  "Clodagh,  are  you 
— are  you  very  anxious?  Will  you  enjoy  this  party 
very  much  ?" 

Clodagh  looked  down  on  him  in  frank  surprise. 

"Why,  of  course!"  she  said.     "Why  do  you  ask?" 

His  gaze  wavered  before  her  level  glance.  He 
looked  round  at  the  fast  emptying  room. 

"No  reason,  my  dear,"  he  murmured.  "No  rea- 
son, I  assure  you.  Go  to  your  party.  Enjoy  your- 
self." 

At  his  words  she  bent  quickly  and  brushed  his 
forehead  with  her  lips,  but  so  lightly,  so  imthinkingly, 
that  the  act  was  valueless. 

"Good  -  night,"  she  said.  "Good -night,  James. 
And  thank  you." 

She  straightened  herself  quickly,  and,  with  a  mind 
already  speeding  feverishly  forward  towards  the 
night's  amusement,  turned  and  walked  out  of  the 
room. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  she  and  Barnard  arrived 
at  the  Palazzo  Ugochini,  and  already  the  deep  purple 
of  the  Venetian  night  was  wrapping  the  \'aterways 
in  mysterious  shade.  But  to-night  she  was  less  ab- 
sorbed in  outward  things.  An  engrossing  idea  occu- 
pied her  mind.  She  felt  at  once  siircr—and  less  sure 
— of  herself  than  she  had  felt  the  night  before. 

The   time   occupied   in    reaching   the   palace   and 

233 


THE    GAMBLER 

mounting  the  marble  steps  seemed  to  her  very  brief; 
and  almost  before  she  realized  that  the  moment  had 
come  she  heard  her  own  and  Barnard's  names  an- 
nounced by  Lady  Frances  Hope's  English  servant. 

Her  first  sensation  upon  entering  the  salon  was  an 
almost  childish  satisfaction  in  the  thought  that  she 
had  dressed  so  carefully;  for  it  needed  but  a  glance  to 
show  her  that  the  evening's  gathering  was  of  a  very 
much  more  important  nature  than  that  of  the  pre- 
vious night.  Quite  fifty  people  were  grouped  about 
the  lofty  and  ancient  room,  whose  centre  and  pivot 
was  again  the  gaudy,  modem  roulette-table;  and 
towards  this  table,  with  its  surrounding  group  of  gay 
and  noisy  votaries,  she  and  Barnard  turned  as  if  by 
instinct. 

Nearing  the  circle  of  gamblers,  she  saw  that  Luard 
— her  acquaintance  of  last  evening — was  officiating  at 
the  game,  to  the  delight  and  amusement  of  his  clients; 
while  at  a  little  distance  from  the  table  she  caught 
sight  of  her  hostess  in  conversation  with  a  tall  man 
whose  remarkably  fair  and  close-cropped  hair  gave 
her  a  sudden  thrill  of  recognition. 

As  in  duty  bound,  she  walked  straight  forward  to 
where  Lady  Frances  was  standing.  And  as  she  mur- 
mured her  greeting,  her  hostess  turned  quickly,  ap- 
praising in  a  single  rapid  glance  every  detail  of  her 
dress,  her  hair,  her  complexion,  while  she  extended 
her  hand  with  a  cordial  gesture.  It  may  be  possible 
that  the  cordiality  cost  Lady  Frances  an  effort — that 
the  smile  with  which  she  greeted  her  radiant  guest 
covered  a  suggestion  of  feminine  chagrin ;  but  if  so, 
no  one  detected  it.  Her  welcome  sounded  genuine 
and  even  warm. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Milbanke!"  she  exclaimed.  "How 
charming  of  you  to  remember!     And  how  charming 

234 


THE    GAMBLER 

you  look!"  she  added,  in  a  whisper  meant  for  Clo- 
dagh's  ear  alone. 

Then,  with  a  movement  of  seemingly  spontaneous 
hospitality,  she  turned  to  the  fair-haired  stranger, 
who  had  fallen  into  conversation  with  Barnard. 

"Walter,"  she  said,  "I  should  like  you  to  know 
Mrs.  Milbanke.  Mrs.  Milbanke,  allow  me  to  intro- 
duce Sir  Walter  Gore." 

It  was  the  affair  of  a  moment.  The  stranger  made 
a  gesture  of  excuse  to  Barnard,  turned  quickly,  and 
bowed  with  well-bred  deference.  Then  he  raised  his 
head,  and  for  the  first  time  Clodagh  met  his  glance — 
the  clear,  fearless  glance,  slightly  reserved,  slightly 
aloof,  that  carried  with  it  the  suggestion  of  the  sea. 
His  look  was  quiet,  steady,  and  absolutely  impersonal. 

Clodagh,  instantly  conscious  of  this  polite  reserve, 
felt  her  face  redden.  She  was  aware  of  a  distinct 
sensation  of  being  smaller — less  important  to  the 
scheme  of  things  —  than  she  had  been  five  minutes 
earlier.  Her  vanity  was  inexplicably,  yet  palpably, 
hurt.  Her  first  feeling  was  a  distressed  humility, 
her  second  an  angry  pride.  Then  a  new  expression 
leaped  into  her  eyes.  Smartingly  conscious  of  Bar- 
nard's interested,  quizzical  glance  fixed  expectantly 
upon  her,  she  challenged  the  stranger's  regard. 

"  How  d'  you  do  ?"  she  said.  "  I  think  I  have  seen 
you  before." 

He  smiled  politely. 

"  Indeed!"  he  said.  "  In  England  ?"  His  tone  was 
courteous  and  attentive,  but  neither  curious  nor  in- 
terested. 

Her  color  deepened. 

"No.  Here  in  Venice  —  this  morning.  I  was  in 
Mr.  Barnard's  gondola  when  you  were  coming  from 
the  station  to  your  hotel." 

235 


THE    GAMBLER 

He  looked  at  her,  then  at  Barnard — a  perfectly- 
honest,  unaffected  glance. 

"Indeed!"  he  said  again.  "I  certainly  remember 
seeing  that  Mr.  Barnard  was  not  alone,  but  I  was 
remiss  enough  not  to  notice  who  the  lady  was." 

For  one  second  a  feeling  of  resentment— almost  of 
dislike — stung  Clodagh.  The  next,  her  old  daring 
mood  of  years  ago  sprang  up  within  her  like  a  flame. 

"Where  I  come  from,"  she  said,  "no  man  would 
have  the  courage  to  say  that." 

Barnard  laughed. 

"Assume  a  virtue  if  you  have  it  not.  Is  that  the 
Irish  code?" 

Gore  smiled. 

"If  that  is  the  Irish  code,"  he  said,  gravely,  "I'm 
afraid  Ireland  only  echoes  the  rest  of  Europe.  As- 
sumption is  the  art  of  the  twentieth  century.  The 
man  who  can  assume  most  climbs  highest.  Isn't 
that  so,  Lady  Frances?" 

He  turned  to  their  hostess. 

Clodagh  stood  silent.  She  was  filled  with  a  hu- 
miliating, childish  sensation  of  having  been  rebuked 
— rebuked  by  some  one  whose  natural  stiperiority 
placed  him  beyond  reach  of  childish  temper  or  child- 
ish violence.  The  sensation  that  many  a  time  in  old 
and  distant  days  had  sent  her  flying  to  the  shelter  of 
Hannah's  arms  rose  intolerably  keen.  With  a  de- 
fiant sense  of  futility  and  loneliness,  she  turned  away 
from  the  little  group,  only  to  encounter  the  pallid, 
unemotional  face  and  stiff,  distinguished  figure  of 
Lord  Deerehurst,  who  had  come  slowly  towards  her 
across  the  room. 

Extending  his  hand,  he  took  her  fingers  and  bowed 
over  them. 

"Mrs.    Milbanke,"    he    said,    "I    have    just   been 

236 


THE    GAMBLER 

mentally  accusing  Lady  Frances  of  surrounding  me 
by  so  many  acquaintances  that  I  could  not  find  one 
friend.     Now  I  desire  to  retract." 

"You  have  found  a  friend?"  In  the  sudden  re- 
lief— the  sudden  touch  of  unexpected  flattery — Clo- 
dagh's  mobile  face  underwent  a  change. 

At  sound  of  their  greeting  Sir  Walter  Gore  in- 
voluntarily turned,  and,  seeing  the  old  peer,  made  a 
slight  movement  of  surprise  and  extended  his  hand. 

"Lord  Deerehurst!"  he  said.  "I  did  not  know 
you  were  in  Venice!" 

They  shook  hands  without  cordiality,  and,  having 
murmured  some  conventional  remark,  the  older  man 
turned  again  to  Clodagh. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  ignoring  the  interruption  to  their 
conversation — "yes,  I  have  found  a  friend." 

His  cold  eyes  gave  point  to  the  words. 

She  laughed  and  colored.  Again  she  was  conscious 
of  Barnard's  amused,  speculative  gaze;  but  also  she 
was  conscious  of  the  quiet,  uninterested,  slightly  criti- 
cal eyes  of  her  new  acquaintance.  Goaded  by  the 
double  spur,  she  glanced  up  into  Deerehurst's  face. 

"Well?"  she  said.     "And  now?" 

"  Now  I  am  in  my  friend's  hands." 

He  made  a  profound  and  eloquent  bow. 

Again  she  colored,  but  again  vanity  and  mortifica- 
tion stirred  her  blood.  With  a  winning  movement 
she  took  a  step  forward. 

"Your  friend  would  like  to  listen  to  philosophy  on 
the  balcony,"  she  said,  in  a  recklessly  low  voice. 


XXV 

To  the  superficial  student  of  Clodagh's  character 
this  development  of  a  phase  in  her  mental  growth 
may  present  itself  as  something  distasteful — even  un- 
worthy; but  to  the  serious  student  of  human  nature, 
with  its  manifold  and  wonderful  complexities,  it  must 
perforce  come  clothed  in  a  different  guise. 

Placed  by  circumstances  in  a  singularly  isolated 
position — springing  from  a  race  in  whom  love  of 
power,  love  of  admiration,  love  of  love  itself  are  in- 
herent qualities — is  it  to  be  wondered  at  that,  in  the 
first  flush  of  her  realized  sovereignty  over  men,  she 
should  view  the  world  from  a  slightly  giddy  altitude  ? 

No  one  grudges  her  triumphs  and  her  innocent 
intrigues  to  the  girl  in  her  first  season.  Humanity 
looks  on  indulgently  while  she  breaks  her  first  lance 
with  the  candid  joy,  the  pardonable  egotism  that  is 
bred  of  youth.  And,  incongruous  as  it  may  sound, 
Clodagh's  was  the  position  of  the  debutante.  She 
was  comprehending  for  the  first  time — and  compre- 
hending with  accumulated  emotion — the  fact  that  she 
possessed  an  individual  path  in  life.  And  with  the 
arrogance  of  inexperience  she  sprang  to  the  conclusion 
that  every  foot  crossing  that  path  should  yield  her  a 
toll  of  homage. 

And  now  one  foot  had  crossed  it  without  pause, 
without  even  a  desire  to  linger!  Her  cheeks  burned 
under  the   smart  of  her  hurt  vanity  as  she  turned 

238 


THE    GAMBLER 

from  the  little  group  that  surrounded  Lady  Frances 
Hope  and  allowed  Deerehurst  to  lead  her  across  the 
salon.  Her  emotions  were  many  and  confused,  but 
one  personality  occupied  her  thoughts  against  the 
angry  expostulations  of  her  reason.  By  an  illogical 
but  very  human  sequence  of  impressions,  Sir  Walter 
Gore  had,  in  one  moment,  become  the  most  objec- 
tionable— and  the  most  interesting — person  of  her 
acquaintance. 

As  she  stepped  out  upon  the  balcony,  Deerehurst 
drew  forward  the  low  chair  that  she  had  occupied  the 
night  before,  and  she  sank  into  it  with  a  sigh  of  satis- 
faction. For  the  first  time  in  the  glamour  of  her  new- 
found excitement  she  felt  glad  to  escape  from  the 
crowd  and  the  lights  of  the  salon. 

For  a  while  her  companion  made  no  effort  to  break 
the  silence  that  she  seemed  anxious  to  preserve,  then 
at  last  he  changed  his  position,  stepped  softly  for- 
ward, and  laid  his  hand  on  the  back  of  her 
chair. 

"Is  what  Barnard  tells  me  true?"  he  asked.  "Are 
you  really  leaving  Venice  in  a  week?" 

She  bent  her  head  without  looking  up. 

"But  surely  we  can  persuade  you — " 

His  voice  quickened,  then  broke  off,  as  Clodagh 
turned  to  him. 

"What  does  it  matter  to  any  one  whether  I  go  or 
stay?"  she  asked,  in  a  slightly  tremulous  voice. 

The  only  surprise  that  Deerehurst  betrayed  was 
shown  in  the  narrowing  of  his  cold  eyes.  He  studied 
her  penetratingly  for  a  moment,  then  he  spoke  again, 
very  quietly. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  "can  you  ask  that  ques- 
tion in  good  faith?" 

A  faint  touch  of  last  night's  embarrassment  wavered 

239 


THE    GAMBLER 

across  her  mind,  but  this  time  she  swept  it  defiantly 
aside. 

"Yes;  I  do  mean  it." 

She  turned,  and  again  looked  up  into  his  face. 

"And  am  I  to  answer  in  good  faith?" 

She  bent  her  head,  still  looking  at  him. 

"Then,  judging  by  the  one  case  of  which  I  can  con- 
fidently speak,  yes.     Distinctly  yes!" 

There  was  a  pause,  and  Clodagh  gave  a  faint  laugh. 

"And  whose  is  the  one  case?" 

Her  voice  sotmded  cool,  high,  even  slightly  in- 
different. It  piqued  Deerehurst  to  a  further  step. 
He  answered  her  question  with  another. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  "have  you  ever  heard 
of  Circe?" 

Again  she  laughed. 

"My  education  was  extensive,  if  very  intermit- 
tent," she  said.  "Yes,  I  have  heard  of  Circe — and 
her  wild  beasts." 

He  echoed  the  laugh  in  his  thin,  expressive  voice. 

"I  see  the  implication.  But  I  can  render  it  value- 
less. I  would  willingly  play  even  wild  beast  —  to 
your  Circe!" 

He  bent  over  her  chair. 

She  drew  away  with  a  slight,  sharp  movement; 
but  he  did  not  alter  his  position. 

"Do  you  know  that  a  man  would  follow  you — 
anywhere?" 

"Anywhere?" 

"Anywhere." 

He  let  his  hand  glide  softly  from  the  back  of  the 
chair  to  her  shoulder. 

At  the  touch  of  his  fingers  she  slipped  away  from 
him  with  a  noiseless  movement  and  rose  quickly  to 
her  feet. 

240 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Then  follow  me  back  to  the  salon,"  she  said,  in 
a  voice  that  still  sounded  high  and  light,  but  that 
held  an  undemote  of  nervousness. 

There  was  a  constrained  pause,  but  it  was  one  of 
short  duration.  Deerehurst  was  not  the  man  to  be 
easily  taken  at  a  disadvantage.  For  one  instant  a 
glimmering  of  chagrin  showed  on  his  composed  face; 
the  next  it  was  gone.  He  straightened  his  dignified 
figure  and  felt  mechanically  for  his  eye-glass. 

"Ton  my  word!"  he  said.  "I  believe  you  are 
Circe.     Use  your  prerogative." 

He  turned,  laughed  a  little,  and  indicated  the 
salon  with  a  courtly  gesture. 

Clodagh  looked  at  him.  He  puzzled  and  discon- 
certed her.  To  one  whose  innate  instinct  was  a 
yielding  to  impulse,  his  absolute  impassivity  in  face 
of  disconcerting  situations  was  something  incompre- 
hensible. And  now,  as  he  stepped  aside  to  give  her 
passage,  she  gave  a  quick  laugh,  expressive  of  both 
embarrassment  and  relief,  and  crossed  the  balcony 
with  a  certain  instinctive  haste. 

During  their  absence  the  crowd  in  the  salon  had 
increased;  the  press  about  the  roulette-table  had  be- 
come denser;  while  at  half  a  dozen  card-tables,  shel- 
tered from  the  general  gatherings  by  large  screens  of 
old  Italian  leather-work,  parties  of  four  were  playing 
bridge. 

Ignoring  these  latter  groups,  Clodagh  crossed  the 
room  towards  the  roulette-table,  and  paused  upon 
the  outskirts  of  the  crowd  that  surrounded  it. 

Deerehurst,  following  her  closely,  narrowed  his 
eyes  with  a  touch  of  interest  as  he  saw  that,  either 
by  intention  or  accident,  she  had  halted  beside  Sir 
Walter  Gore. 

"Well?"  he  said,  in  his  thin,  satirical  voice,  as  he 
i6  241 


THE    GAMBLER 

gained  her  side.     "Well,  shall  we  combine  forces  as 
we  did  last  night?     I  brought  you  luck,  remember." 

She  turned  upon  him  almost  sharply. 

"No!"  she  said;  "no!     I  don't  play  roulette." 

At  the  vehemence  of  her  denial  he  raised  his  eye- 
brows, and  Sir  Walter  Gore  looked  round.  Seeing 
the  speaker,  an  involuntary  gleam  of  surprise  crossed 
his  face. 

"Surely  you  are  not  so  unfashionable  as  to  disap- 
prove of  gambling,  Mrs.  Milbanke  ?"  he  asked,  in  an 
even  voice. 

Clodagh  raised  her  eyes,  and  this  time  her  glance 
was  free  from  coquetry. 

"  I  have  not  been  fashionably  brought  up,"  she  said. 

"Indeed!" 

The  surprise- — and  with  it  a  reluctant  interest — 
deepened  in  Gore's  glance.  But  his  eyes  wandered 
doubtfully  over  her  dress. 

Invariably  quick  to  follow  a  train  of  thought,  she 
gave  a  short,  comprehending  laugh. 

"Oh,  I  know  what  you  are  thinking  of,"  she  cried. 
"I  don't  look  as  if  I  belong  to  the  wilds.  People 
never  understand  that  dressing  is  a  knack  that  comes 
to  women  and  does  not  really  mean  anything." 

He  smiled,  amused  against  his  will. 

Again  she  laughed,  like  a  child  who  has  been 
praised. 

"Oh,  it's  quite  true,"  she  added.  "I  could  tell 
you  of  dozens  of  cases — " 

But  her  flow  of  confidence  was  suddenly  termi- 
nated. Valentine  Serracauld,  catching  sight  of  her 
through  the  throng  of  people,  had  made  a  hasty  way 
towards  her.  His  finely  cut,  colorless  face  was  ani- 
mated and  his  dark-gray  eyes  looked  excited  as  he 
reached  her  side. 

242 


THE    GAMBLER 

"  How  d'  you  do  ?  How  d'  you  do,  Mrs.  Milbanke  ?" 
he  exclaimed.  "Please  congratulate  me!  I've  had 
a  run  of  luck!     Netted  seventy  pounds!" 

Clodagh's  lips  parted. 

"Seventy  pounds!"  she  said,  breathlessly,  and  in- 
stinctively she  turned  to  Gore.  Rut  Gore's  place  was 
empty.  At  Serracauld's  approach  he  had  moved 
unostentatiously  away. 

At  the  knowledge  that  he  was  gone  a  sense  of 
disappointment  fell  upon  her.  She  glanced  imcer- 
tainly  at  Deerehurst. 

The  old  peer,  who  had  been  a  cynical  observer  of 
the  little  scene,  gave  a  thin  laugh. 

"Our  friend  Gore  is  fearful  of  contamination,"  he 
said,  glancing  at  his  nephew. 

Serracauld  laughed. 

"Gore!"  he  said,  contemptuously.  "Oh,  Gore  and 
I  never  did  chum  up.  But  where  have  you  been 
hiding  yourself  all  day?"  He  turned  again  to  Clo- 
dagh.  "We  have  had  dark  suspicions  that  old 
Barny  has  been  buying  up  your  society  with  stock- 
exchange  tips.  Come  now,  confess!"  He  paused 
and  laughed,  looking  with  intent  admiration  into  her 
expressive  face. 

And  Clodagh  —  sailing  upon  the  tide  of  present 
things,  elated  by  the  eager  interest  of  two  men,  and 
excited  by  the  grudging  interest  of  a  third — forgot 
that  for  every  frail  craft  such  as  hers  there  is  an 
ultimate  harbor  to  be  gained,  a  future  to  be  reckoned 
with.  She  lifted  her  head,  met  Serracauld's  search- 
ing glance,  and  echoed  his  inconsequent  laugh. 


XXVI 

THE  next  day  Clodagh  made  one  of  a  party  to 
Lido,  and  the  same  night  accompanied  Lady 
Frances  Hope,  Deerehurst,  and  Serracauld  to  a  thea- 
tre; but  on  neither  occasion  did  she  meet,  or  even  see. 
Sir  Walter  Gore. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day,  however,  he 
again  appeared  upon  the  scene  of  her  interests,  and  in 
an  unexpected  manner. 

The  hour  was  six,  and  she,  with  Barnard  and 
Milbanke,  was  seated  on  the  hotel  terrace  chatting 
desultorily  in  the  warmth  of  the  early  evening. 

While  they  talked  a  gondola  gHded  up  to  the  hotel 
steps,  and  in  the  glow  of  the  waning  sun  they  saw 
Gore  step  from  the  boat,  pause  to  give  some  order  to 
the  gondolier,  and  then  mount  the  stone  steps. 

They  all  three  saw  him  simultaneously.  Clodagh, 
to  her  own  annoyance,  colored,  and  Barnard  smiled 
in  his  observant,  quizzical  fashion. 

"I  didn't  tell  you  that  Gore  was  coming  to  see  me 
this  afternoon,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  in  an  un- 
dertone.    "  I  had  a  fancy  that  you  might  run  away.  ' 

The  flush  on  Clodagh's  face  deepened. 

"Run  away!"  she  exclaimed,  in  angry  haste. 

But  Barnard  rose  without  replying  and  went  for- 
ward to  meet  his  visitor. 

Having  greeted  his  host.  Gore  turned  to  Clodagh. 

*  How  d'  you  do,  Mrs.  Milbanke?"  he  said,  raising 
nis  hat.     Then  he  looked  interrogatively  at  Milbanke. 

244 


THE    GAMBLER 

Barnard  made  a  sweeping  gesture. 

"My  old  friend,  Mr.  James  Milbanke,"  he  said. 
"James,  Sir  Walter  Gore." 

Milbanke  looked  up  quickly,  and  the  younger  man 
held  out  his  hand  with  a  pleasant  touch  of  cordial- 
ity. 

"How  d'  you  do,  sir?"  he  said.  "Are  you  making 
a  long  stay  in  Venice?" 

With  a  friendly  movement  he  pulled  forward  one 
of  the  wicker  chairs  and  seated  himself  beside  Mil- 
banke. 

Clodagh,  leaning  far  back  in  her  own  long,  low 
seat,  looked  at  him  curiously.  Unconsciously  the  re- 
membrance of  Serracauld's  careless  manner  upon  a 
similar  occasion  of  first  introduction  recurred  to  her 
mind,  coupled  with  the  knowledge  of  Barnard's  con- 
temptuous idea  of  her  husband — his  fads  and  his 
peculiarities.  What  could  this  man  see  to  attract 
him  in  a  dry  archaeologist  of  twice  his  age  ?  She 
found  herself  waiting  intently  for  his  next  remark — 
his  next  action. 

"Are  you  making  a  long  stay?"  he  repeated,  set- 
tling himself  in  his  chair. 

Milbanke,  surprised  and  pleased  at  the  unexpected 
attention,  sat  up  stiffly  in  his  seat. 

"Oh  no,"  he  said.  "No.  We  are  leaving  in  three 
or  four  days.  I — I  am  interested  in  antiquity,  and 
should,  properly  speaking,  be  in  Sicily  at  the  present 
moment.  Perhaps  you  have  heard  of  the  very  re- 
markable researches  that  are  being  carried  on  there  ?" 

Gore  smiled. 

"No,  I'm  afraid  I  must  confess  ignorance.  I  know 
disgracefully  little  about  the  past." 

Barnard,  fearing  a  dissertation  from  Milbanke,  in- 
terrupted with  a  laugh. 

245 


THE    GAMBLER 

"I'm  afraid  most  of  us  find  the  present  more  al- 
luring." 

He  cast  a  swift  glance  at  Clodagh. 

But  Clodagh,  still  annoyed  with  him  and  with 
herself — still  puzzled  by  Gore's  attitude — lifted  her 
head  sharply. 

"At  least,"  she  said,  "we  can  be  sure  that  the 
present  is  genuine." 

Gore  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  of  that,  Mrs.  Milbanke?"  he 
asked,  quietly.  "Don't  you  think  there  is  trickery 
and  deception  in  the  manufacture  of  many  things 
besides  the  antique?" 

Her  glance  faltered. 

"I  have  seen  a  lot  of  unauthentic  relics,"  she  said, 
with  a  touch  of  obstinacy. 

"  And  I  a  lot  of  unauthentic  life." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  slight  smile. 

The  smile  stung  her  tmreasonably. 

"Some  people  can  never  become  connoisseurs," 
she  retorted,  quickly. 

Gore  laughed,  but  without  offence. 

"Not  of  treasures,  perhaps,  but  with  experience 
and  observation  surely  any  one  can  become  a  judge 
of  men— and  women." 

Clodagh  forced  herself  to  smile. 

"You  disapprove  of  women?" 

"Disapprove!     Indeed,  no." 

But  here  Barnard  interposed  with  one  of  his  suave 
gestures. 

"He  only  disapproves  of  the  modern  woman,  Mrs. 
Milbanke!" 

Gore  turned  to  him  good-humoredly. 

"Wrong,  Barnard,"  he  said.  "I  admire  the  mod- 
cm   woman — the   truly  modern   woman.     It  is  the 

246 


THE    GAMBLER 

society  woman — of  any  period — that  I  lose  patience 
with." 

Barnard  smiled. 

"The  present-day  woman  is  very  proud  of  her 
complex  life,"  he  said,  smoothly,  "her  big  card  debts 
and  her  little  intrigues." 

Gore's  healthy  face  turned  a  shade  redder. 

"I  know,"  he  said,  tersely.  "But  to  me  a  woman 
with  no  higher  ambition  than  the  playing  of  cards 
winter  and  summer,  afternoon  after  afternoon,  is — 
is  pitiable." 

Clodagh  leaned  forward. 

"Perhaps  they  play  cards  because  they  have  no 
real  interests." 

He  looked  at  her  quickly. 

"And  why  have  they  no  real  interests,  Mrs.  Mil- 
banke?  Isn't  it  because  they  reject  all  simple, 
natural,  wholesome  things?  Such  women  do  not 
know  the  meaning  of  the  word  home.  They  do  not 
want  a  home — or  home  life — as  the  women  of  the  last 
generation  understood  it." 

"Ah,  there  you  touch  bottom,  my  dear  Gore! 
There  you  are  in  your  depth!"  Again  Barnard  gave 
one  of  his  smooth,  tactful  laughs.  "This  young  man 
has  a  great  pull  over  us,  Mrs.  Milbanke,  when  he 
compares  the  present  generation  with  the  past." 

At  the  suave  words  Gore  made  a  slightly  em- 
barrassed gesture,  and  looked  instinctively  towards 
Milbanke. 

"Forgive  my  tirade,  sir,"  he  said,  a  httle  con- 
fusedly. "  Mr.  Barnard  is  right.  I  have  rather  a 
high  ideal  of  womanhood.  I  am  possessed  of  a — a 
very  remarkable  mother." 

"A  mother!"  Clodagh  looked  round  impulsively. 
"Oh,  tell  me  what  she  is  like!" 

247 


THE    GAMBLER 

With  a  certain  spontaneity  Gore  turned  to  re- 
spond to  her  question,  but  before  his  eyes  met  hers 
their  glance  was  intercepted  by  a  shrewd,  amused, 
inquiring  look  from  Barnard.  The  effect  of  the  look 
was  strange.  His  emotion,  so  suddenly  aroused,  died 
suddenly.  His  face  became  passive,  even  a  little 
cold.  He  straightened  his  shoulders,  and  gave  the 
restrained,  self-conscious  laugh  that  the  Englishman 
resorts  to  when  he  feels  that  his  sentiments  have  en- 
trapped him. 

"Oh,  you  must  not  ask  me  what  my  mother  is 
like,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said.  "I  could  not  give 
you  an  unbiassed  opinion.  As  it  is,  I  have  been 
wasting  your  time  unpardonably.  Barnard,  do  you 
think  Mrs.  Milbanke  will  excuse  you  for  ten  minutes  ?" 

Barnard  rose  slowly. 

"Do  not  put  me  to  the  pain  of  saying  'yes,'"  he 
exclaimed.  "Let  me  imagine  that  I  am  tearing 
myself  away  against  Mrs.  Milbanke's  express  desire. 
Au  revoir,  Mrs.  Milbanke.     Au  revoir,  James." 

He  nodded,  and  sauntered  off  in  the  direction  of 
the  hotel  door. 

A  moment  later  Gore  shook  hands  silently  with 
Clodagh  and  her  husband,  and  moved  away  in  the 
same  direction. 

As  he  disappeared  into  the  hotel  Milbanke  folded 
his  newspaper  with  interested  haste. 

"What  a  well-mannered  young  man!"  he  said. 
"Who  is  he?     What  is  his  name?" 

Clodagh  was  sitting  very  still,  her  hands  clasped  in 
her  lap,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  some  distant  object. 

"Gore,"  she  said,  shortly.   "Gore.    Sir  Walter  Gore." 

"Gore!"  Milbanke  repeated  the  name  as  though 
it  pleased  him.  "A  fine  young  fellow.  Very  unlike 
the  majority  of  young  men  of  the  present  day." 

248 


THE    GAMBLER 

Cloilaijh  said  nothing. 

"Don't  you  agree  with  me,  my  dear?" 

As  if  by  an  effort,  she  recalled  her  wandering  gaze, 
turned  her  head  slowly,  and  looked  at  her  husband. 

"He — he  certainly  seems  unlike  other  people,"  she 
admitted,  in  a  low  voice. 

After  this  rejoinder  there  was  silence.  Clodagh, 
her  brows  drawn  together  in  a  perplexed  frown,  re- 
lapsed into  her  former  absorbed  contemplation ; 
while  Milbanke,  having  changed  his  position  once 
or  twice,  shook  out  the  sheets  of  his  newspaper  and 
buried  himself  in  the  lengthy  report  of  a  scientific 
meeting. 

But  scarcely  had  he  reached  the  end  of  his  first 
paragraph  than  a  large  shadow  fell  across  the  page, 
and,  looking  up  quickly,  he  saw  the  ponderous  figure 
of  Mr.  Angelo  Tomes. 

At  the  sight  of  his  hero  he  started,  colored  with 
pleasure,  and  rose  hastily. 

"Mr.  Tomes!"  he  exclaimed.  "Clodagh,  my  dear, 
here  is  Mr.  Tomes." 

Clodagh  turned  without  enthusiasm,  and  looked 
at  the  loose  figure  and  unkempt  hair  of  the  scientist. 

"I  do  not  think  you  and  my — my  wife  have  met, 
Mr.  Tomes!"  Milbanke  broke  in,  with  a  nervous  at- 
tempt at  geniality. 

Mr.  Tomes  bowed. 

"No;  but  I  have  many  times  seen  Mrs.  Milbanke," 
he  said,  ponderously. 

Clodagh  bent  her  head,  noting  with  the  fastidious 
intolerance  of  youth  that  his  clothes  were  baggy  and 
his  hands  unclean. 

Milbanke  gave  a  nervous,  conciliatory  laugh. 

"  I — I  have  noticed  that  great  men  are  always  ob- 
servant," he  said,  jocularly. 

249 


THE    GAMBLER 

Mr.  Tomes  smiled. 

"That  is  scarcely  a  compliment  to  Mrs.  Milbanke," 
he  interposed,  consciously. 

Clodagh  looked  up  and  met  his  eyes. 

"I  don't  wish  to  be  paid  compliments,  Mr.  Tomes," 
she  said.  "Please  don't  try  to  think  of  any.  Did 
you  come  to  take  my  husband  out?" 

Mr.  Tomes  stammered,  visibly  crestfallen. 

"Well,"  he  began,  "there  is  a  certain  archway  in 
one  of  the  smaller  churches  which  I  think  Mr.  Mil- 
banke ought  to  see.  But  as  an  archway  is  not  too 
weighty  for  a  lady's  consideration,  it  struck  me — it 
occurred  to  me — " 

But  Clodagh  cut  him  short. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Tomes,  I'm  much  too  frivolous  even  for 
archways.  Don't  take  me  into  your  calculations;  I 
should  only  spoil  them.  Of  course  it's  very  kind  of 
you,"  she  added,  with  tardy  remorse,  "but  the  ex- 
periment would  be  a  failure.     Ask  my  husband — " 

Milbanke  looked  distressed. 

"Oh,  my  dear — "  he  began. 

But  Clodagh's  nerves  were  jarred. 

"  I  know,"  she  broke  in — "  I  know  it's  awfully  kind 
of  Mr.  Tomes.  But  I  couldn't  go  to  see  an  archway 
to-day.     I  couldn't.     I  really — really  couldn't." 

Mr.  Tomes  relapsed  into  a  state  of  pompous  offence. 

Milbanke  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  nervous 
misery. 

"Certainly  not.  Certainly  not,  my  dear,"  he 
agreed.  "You  are  tired;  you  have  been  doing  too 
much."  He  peered  at  her  through  the  softly  falling 
twilight  with  a  look  of  helpless  concern. 

She  felt  rather  than  saw  the  look,  and  that  sensitive 
dread  of  being  rendered  conspicuous  that  attacks  us 
all  in  early  life  caused  her  to  shrink  into  herself. 

250 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Nonsense!"  she  said,  a  little  coldly.  "I  am  per- 
fectly well.  Please  go  and  see  Mr.  Tomcs's  archway 
— I  don't  mind  being  left  alone.  I  would  like  to  be 
left  alone." 

Milbanke  stirred  uneasily. 

"  Of  course,  my  dear,  if  you  wish  it,"  he  murmured. 
"Mr.  Tomes,  shall  we — ?     Are  you  ready — ?" 

He  waved  his  hand  towards  the  canal. 

Mr.  Tomes  drew  his  loose  limbs  together,  and 
bowed  formally  to  Clodagh. 

"Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,  Mr.  Milbanke,"  he  said, 
stiffly,  and  walked  off  along  the  terrace. 

Milbanke  did  not  follow  him  at  once.  He  stood 
looking  at  his  wife  in  pained  uncertainty. 

"Clodagh,  my  dear,  "  he  began  at  last,  "if  there 
is  anything  I  can  do — " 

But  Clodagh  turned  away. 

"No,"  she  said,  almost  inaudibly — "no;  there  is 
nothing.     I'd  like  to  be  alone.     I  want  to  be  alone." 

And  Milbanke — perplexed,  embarrassed,  vaguely 
unhappy — turned  slowly  and  walked  across  the  ter- 
race after  his  scientific  friend. 

Clodagh  waited  until  the  last  sound  of  Mr.  Tomes's 
loud,  rolling  voice  had  melted  into  the  distance  with 
the  departure  of  his  gondola;  then  with  a  stiff,  tired 
movement  she  rose,  walked  in  her  own  turn  across 
the  terrace,  and,  leaning  upon  the  stone  parapet, 
gazed  out  into  the  purple  twilight  as  she  had  gazed 
on  the  evening  of  her  first  arrival. 

How  long  ago — how  infinitely  far  away — that  first 
arrival  seemed  to  her!  With  the  capacity  for  the 
assimilation  of  new  emotions  that  belongs  to  all  her 
race,  she  had  lived  more  keenly  during  the  last  three 
days  than  during  the  preceding  four  years.  To  one 
of  her  temperament,  life  is  not  a  matter  of  time,  but 

251 


THE    GAMBLER 

of  experience.  At  seventeen  she  had  been  a  child; 
on  her  twenty-second  birthday  she  had  been  a  girl; 
and  now,  when  that  birthday  was  past  by  but  a  few 
months,  she  was  conscious  of  the  stirring  of  her 
womanhood — roused  into  swift  activity  by  the  first 
approach  of  the  world  with  its  men  and  women,  its 
laxities  and  prejudices,  its  infinite  potentialities  for 
good  or  evil. 

Some  vague  foreshadowing  of  this  idea  was  cast- 
ing itself  across  her  mind  when  the  thread  of  her 
musings  was  suddenly  broken  by  a  quick  step  sound- 
ing across  the  deserted  terrace;  and  with  a  slight,  in- 
voluntary movement  she  straightened  herself,  and 
brought  her  hands  together  upon  the  cold  surface  of 
the  parapet. 

Sir  Walter  Gore  had  parted  with  Barnard  in  the 
hall  of  the  hotel,  and  now  he  crossed  the  terrace 
quickly,  conscious  of  the  fast-falling  twilight.  He 
was  close  to  the  flight  of  stone  steps  that  led  to  the 
water  before  the  flutter  of  Clodagh's  light  dress 
caught  his  preoccupied  attention. 

Seeing  her,  he  paused  and  raised  his  hat. 

"You  look  very  mysterious,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he 
said.     "Has  your  husband  gone  in-doors  ?" 

Clodagh  felt  herself  color.  Unreasonably,  and 
seemingly  inexplicably,  the  mention  of  Milbanke's 
name  jarred  upon  her. 

"My  husband  has  gone  to  see  an  archway  in  one 
of  the  churches,"  she  said,  with  a  twinge  of  sharp- 
ness. 

Caught  by  the  inflection  of  her  voice,  Gore  looked 
at  her  more  closely  through  the  gathering  dusk. 

"And  you  do  not  share  his  taste  for  the  antique?" 

She  turned  towards  him,  her  eyes  alight  with  a 
sharp,  cold  brightness. 

252 


THE    GAMBLER 

"I  hate  the  antique,"  she  said,  with  sudden 
vehemence. 

Almost  against  his  will.  Gore  looked  at  her  again. 

"And  yet  you  come  from  Ireland?  Isn't  every- 
thing there  very  old  ?" 

For  an  instant  she  looked  away  across  the  dark- 
ening waters;  then  her  glance  flashed  back  to  his. 

"Yes,  old,"  she  said,  passionately,  "but  so  natural- 
ly old  that  its  age  is  not  thrust  upon  you.  Where  I 
come  from  there  is  a  ruined  chapel  on  the  edge  of  a 
cliff  that  dates  from  the  fourth  century.  And  at  the 
present  day  the  peasants  pray  there  just  as  their 
ancestors  prayed  centuries  and  centuries  ago.  They 
don't  stare  at  it  and  read  about  it  and  write  about  it, 
like  the  antiquarians  do.  They  pray  there.  The  chapel 
isn't  a  curiosity  to  them;  it's  a  part  of  their  lives." 

Gore  was  silent.  An  unconquerable  surprise  —  a 
reluctant  fascination — held  him  chained,  forgetful 
of  the  gathering  darkness  and  of  the  gondola  that 
awaitea  him  at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

As  he  stood  hesitating  Clodagh  spoke  again. 

"Don't  you  believe  that  things  should  be  lived — 
not  merely  looked  at?"  she  asked,  her  voice  low  and 
tense.  Almost  unconsciously  the  desire  to  interest 
this  man,  to  win  his  attention,  to  compel  him  to 
share  her  opinions  had  sprung  into  her  mind. 

Gore  answered  her  with  directness. 

"No,"  he  said.     "All  things  cannot  be  lived." 

His  voice  was  quiet  and  controlled ;  the  pose  of 
his  body,  the  look  in  his  eyes,  all  suggested  a  tem- 
pered strength  —  a  curbed  vitality.  The  desire  to 
dominate  him  rose  higher,  overshadowing  every 
other  sensation  in  Clodagh's  brain. 

She  stepped  nearer  to  him,  her  hand  resting  on  the 
stone  balustrade,  her  body  bending  forward. 

253 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Don't  you  think  that  when  Hfe  is  so  very  short 
we  are  justified  in  taking  all  we  can — when  we  can  ?" 

Her  warm  lips  were  parted ;  her  eyes  shone  with  an 
added  light.  She  was  walking  on  the  edge  of  an 
abyss  with  the  ardor  of  one  whose  gaze  is  fixed  upon 
the  sun.  But  Gore,  seeing  only  the  abyss,  girded  on 
his  armor. 

"No,"  he  said,  slowly  and  deliberately.  "No; 
that  has  never  been  my  stand-point." 

"Then  you  refuse  the  good  things  of  life  when 
they  come  your  way?" 

"Good  is  a  very  elastic  word." 

He  was  fencing,  and  she  realized  it.  With  a  subtle 
change  of  tone  she  made  a  fresh  essay. 

"Isn't  the  meaning  of  every  word  merely  a  mat- 
ter of  inflection  ?" 

He  hesitated. 

"I — I  suppose  so,"  he  admitted,  guardedly. 

She  smiled  suddenly,  looking  up  into  his  face. 

"Then  to  me  the  word  'good'  means  all  that  is 
warm  and  light  and  happy;  and  to  you  it  means 
something  cold — or  unattainable." 

"  Indeed,  no.     You  have  made  a  wrong  deduction." 

"Well,  what  does  it  mean  to  you?" 

"Mean?     I — I  am  not  sure  that  I  can  tell  you." 

"Perhaps  you  have  not  found  the  meaning." 

"Perhaps  not." 

"But  you  are  seeking  for  it?" 

He  laughed  a  little  constrainedly. 

"I  may  be — unconsciously." 

Again  she  averted  her  eyes  and  turned  towards 
the  mysterious  canal. 

"Now  I  understand  one  thing,"  she  said,  in  a  soft, 
slow  voice. 

"  What  is  that  ?"    Gore  was  curious  despite  himself. 

254 


THE    GAMBLER 

"  Why  they  call  you  '  Sir  Galahad.'  " 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  His  face  flushed, 
then  turned  cold. 

"Indeed!"  he  said,  stiffly.  "And,  if  it  is  not  in- 
discreet, may  I  ask  who  calls  me  'Sir  Galahad'?" 

At  the  tone  of  his  voice  Clodagh  wheeled  round. 

"Didn't  you  know?"  she  asked.  "I  thought — oh, 
I  was  sure  you  knew." 

He  laughed. 

"No,"  he  said,  with  elaborate  indifference.  "No. 
To  whom  am  I  indebted  for  the  name?" 

But  his  companion  was  silent.  Acutely  conscious 
of  having  struck  a  wrong  note,  she  felt  angry  with 
herself — angry  with  him. 

"Who  gave  me  the  name?"  he  asked  again. 

"  I  had  better  not  say.     I  thought  you  knew  of  it." 

"  Then  I  am  at  liberty  to  guess.  It  was  Lord  Deere- 
hurst." 

His  tone  was  curt — even  contemptuous. 

Clodagh  flushed.  It  seemed  as  if,  by  a  subtle  in- 
sinuation, he  had  scorned  her. 

"And  if  it  was  Lord  Deerehurst?"  she  asked, 
sharply. 

Gore  made  an  exclamation  of  contempt. 

"You  dislike  Lord  Deerehurst?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"You  dislike  Lord  Deerehurst?"  She  was  per- 
sistent, remembering  keenly  and  uncomfortably  the 
favor  she  had  shown  the  old  peer  in  his  presence  the 
night  before. 

Gore  gave  a  short,  indifferent  laugh  and  the  sound 
galled  her. 

"Lord  Deerehurst  is  a  friend  of  mine,"  she  said, 
unwisely. 

He  bent  his  head  with  a  stiff  movement. 

255 


THE    GAMBLER 

"If  I  have  transgressed,"  he  said,  "please  forgive 
me.  I  have  already  trespassed  on  your  time.  Good- 
bye. Perhaps  we  shall  meet  later  at  the  Palazzo 
Ugochini." 

His  voice  was  cold  and  very  reserved. 

The  blood  beat  hotly  and  uncomfortably  in  Clo- 
dagh's  cheeks,  but  she  raised  her  head  and  answered 
in  a  voice  as  indifferent  as  his  own. 

"Good-bye.  It's  quite  possible  that  you  may  see 
me  at  the  Palazzo  Ugochini;  but  I  can't  promise 
more." 

Gathering  up  her  light  skirt  she  turned  and  walked 
across  the  terrace  to  the  door  of  the  hotel. 

Gore  stood  and  watched  her  until  the  last  gleam 
of  her  dress  was  lost  in  the  lighted  hall;  then  slowly 
—  thoughtfully  —  almost  reluctantly  —  he  began  his 
descent  of  the  steps. 


XXVII 

CLODAGIi'S  mood  was  inexplicable  even  to  her- 
self as  she  entered  the  hotel,  ran  up-stairs  to  her 
own  room,  and  began  to  dress  for  dinner. 

She  changed  her  dress  with  an  almost  feverish 
haste,  giving  herself  no  time  for  thought,  and  then, 
scarcely  waiting  to  take  a  final  look  into  the  mirror, 
left  the  room  and  hurried  down  into  the  hall.  There 
she  encountered  Barnard. 

"I  have  just  been  speaking  to  your  husband,"  he 
said,  greeting  her  with  a  smile.  "He  has  been  lured 
into  attending  some  secret  conclave  of  Italian  scien- 
tists.    He  asked  me  to  make  his  excuses  to  you." 

Clodagh's  glance  fell. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  with  a  curious  little  inflection  of 
the  voice. 

"Of  course  he  knew  that  you  were  going  out  to- 
night ?" 

"Oh  yes.  Of  course."  She  still  kept  her  lashes 
lowered. 

Barnard  smiled. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  cheerful 
voice,  "suppose  you  make  an  evening  of  it?  Lord 
Deerehurst  has  asked  me  to  dine  with  him  and  Scrra- 
eauld  at  the  'Abbati.'  Let's  form  an  even  party? 
The  old  man  will  be  absolutely  charmed ;  and  you 
have  never  dined  at  a  restaurant.  Say  I  may  ar- 
range it?" 

n  257 


THE    GAMBLER 

For  a  moment  longer  Clodagh  studied  the  ground; 
then  very  quickly  she  raised  her  eyes,  and  in  their 
depths  Barnard  read  a  new  expression. 

"After  all,"  she  said,  tentatively,  "why  shouldn't 
we  take  what  comes  our  way?" 

He  extended  his  hands. 

"Why,  indeed?     Let  me  spread  the  good  news?" 

Again  Clodagh  let  her  lashes  droop. 

"Very  well,"  she  said.  "Very  well.  Say  that  I 
want  to  enjoy  myself." 

The  dignified  and  placid  serenity  of  Venice  had 
been  intruded  upon  that  season  by  the  establish- 
ment of  a  fashionable  dining-place,  which,  under  the 
name  of  the  Abbati  Restaurant,  had  taken  up  its 
position  in  a  beautiful  old  house  on  one  of  the  nar- 
rower waterways. 

Its,  distance  from  Glodagh's  hotel  was  short;  and 
the  journey  thither  —  taken  in  Lord  Deerehurst's 
gondola,  in  company  with  the  old  peer,  Serracauld, 
and  Barnard  —  occupied  but  a  few  minutes.  Glo- 
dagh's first  impression,  on  gliding  up  the  still,  dark 
waterway  and  stepping  out  upon  the  time-worn  gar- 
den steps,  was  one  of  delight.  And  as  she  stood  for 
a  moment  in  the  shadow  of  the  ancient  wall,  above 
which  the  tree-tops  rose,  casting  black  reflections 
into  the  water  that  ran  beneath  them,  she  was  con- 
scious of  the  subtle  touch  of  the  warm  night  wind 
upon  her  face,  of  the  subtle  poetry  in  the  scent  of 
unseen  flowers,  of  the  subtle  invitation  conveyed  by 
the  long  row  of  lighted  windows  seen  through  a 
screen  of  magnolia-trees. 

She  had  momentarily  forgotten  her  companions, 
when  Deerehurst — the  last  to  leave  the  gondola — 
stepped  softly  to  her  side. 

258 


THE    GAMBLER 

"This  appeals  to  you?"  he  said. 

She  started  shghtly  at  his  unexpected  nearness; 
then,  with  a  quick  impetuosity,  she  responded  to 
his  question. 

"I  think  it  is  exquisite,"  she  said.  "The  hght 
tlirough  the  trees  suggests  such  wonderful,  mysterious 
things." 

He  smiled  under  cover  of  the  darkness. 

"It  suggests  an  enchanted  banquet.  Let  us  find 
the  presiding  genius." 

He  laid  his  fingers  lightly  on  her  arm  and  guided 
her  up  the  long,  dim  garden. 

Followed  by  Serracauld  and  Barnard,  they  trav- 
ersed the  shadowy  pathways  and  emerged  upon  an 
open  space  of  lawn  that  fronted  the  house. 

Three  or  four  of  the  private  rooms  were  already 
occupied,  and  with  the  faint  streams  of  light  that 
poured  from  their  open  windows  came  the  pleasant 
murmuring  of  talk  and  laughter. 

As  the  little  party  stepped  into  the  radius  of  this 
light,  a  stately  personage  in  sombre  dress  came  for- 
ward deferentially,  and,  recognizing  Deerehurst,  made 
a  profound  bow. 

The  old  nobleman  nodded  amiably,  as  to  an  ac- 
quaintance of  long  standing,  and,  drawing  the  man 
aside,  addressed  him  in  F'rench. 

The  explanation  was  brief,  and  almost  at  once 
Deerehurst  turned  back  to  his  companions. 

"Come,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  in  English.  "Our 
friend  Abbati  proves  amenable  to  ])ersuasion.  He 
will  give  tis  his  prettiest  room — though  we  are  un- 
expected guests." 

Clodagh  stepped  forward  with  eager  curiosity. 

"I  never  thought  a  restaurant  could  be  like  this," 
she  said. 

259 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Very  few  of  them  are,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  mur- 
mured Barnard,  close  behind  her.  "The  usual  res- 
taurant is  an  ostentatious  place  of  white  enamel, 
palms,  and  lights,  where  a  hundred  tongues  are  vainly- 
endeavoring  to  drown  a  band.  This  little  corner  will 
scarcely  outlive  another  season.  It's  too  perfect — 
too  quiet  to  find  favor  with  the  crowd.  It  was  opened 
under  the  patronage — rather,  at  the  suggestion — of 
Prince  Menof,  a  Sybarite  millionaire  temporarily  out 
of  sorts  with  Paris.  But  now  Paris  smiles  once 
more ;  Menof  has  wearied  of  Venice ;  and  poor  Abbati 
begins  to  tremble." 

Clodagh  looked  round. 

"But  could  anything  so  exquisite  be  a  failure?" 

"Easily,  my  dear  lady.  People  like  to  eat  their 
expensive  dinners  where  others  can  comment  on 
their  extravagance.     It's  a  very  vulgar  world." 

The  three  men  laughed,  and  Clodagh,  slightly  dis- 
tressed, slightly  puzzled,  stepped  through  the  wide 
hall  to  the  room  that  Deerehurst  indicated. 

It  was  a  small  chamber,  long  and  narrow  in  shape. 
The  walls  were  panelled  in  faded  brocade,  and  the 
lights  were  shrouded  in  silk  of  some  soft  hu'e;  the 
floor  was  covered  with  a  carpet  in  which  wreathed 
roses  formed  the  chief  design;  and  the  furniture  con- 
sisted of  one  oval  table,  four  beautiful  old  chairs,  and 
a  couple  of  ancient  French  mirrors.  As  Deerehurst 
stepped  forward  to  relieve  Clodagh  of  her  cloak,  four 
waiters  entered  noiselessly,  and  almost  immediately 
dinner  was  served. 

It  was  a  dinner  such  as  Prince  Menof  would  have 
delighted  in.  There  was  nothing  tedious,  nothing 
monotonous  in  the  six  or  seven  courses  that  com- 
prised its  menu;  each  stimulated  and  gratified  the 
appetite  without  a  hint  of  satiety.     It  was  an  epi- 

260 


THE    GAMBLER 

curean  feast.  And  it  was  interesting  to  study  the 
varying  ways  in  which  the  guests  responded  to  its 
appeal. 

Barnard — placid  man  of  the  world,  indulgent  con- 
noisseur of  all  the  luxuries — openly  lingered  over  the 
delights  of  the  meal ;  Serracauld  ate  quickly  and  al- 
most greedily,  as  many  men  of  slight  build  and  thin, 
sensual  faces  do  eat;  Deerehurst  alone  toyed  with 
his  food,  giving  serious  attention  to  nothing  beyond 
the  dry  toast  with  which  he  was  kept  supplied ;  while 
Clodagh — young  enough  and  healthy  enough  to  have 
an  appetite  that  needed  no  tempting — frankly  enjoyed 
her  dinner  without  at  all  comprehending  its  excellence. 

During  the  first  portion  of  the  meal  conversation 
was  fitful  and  impersonal;  but  as  the  waiters  left  the 
table  to  carry  in  one  of  the  later  dishes  the  tone  of 
the  intercourse  underwent  a  change.  Deerehurst 
turned  to  Clodagh  with. a  sudden  gesture  of  concern 
and  intimacy. 

"I  see  you  do  not  indorse  my  choice  of  wine!" 
he  said,  in  a  gently  solicitous  voice. 

She  looked  up  with  slight  confusion,  then  looked 
down  at  her  untouched  glass,  in  which  the  cham- 
pagne bubbles  were  rapidly  subsiding. 

"I — T  never  drink  champagne,"  she  said,  a  little 
diffidently. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Milbanke!  And  my  poor  uncle  has 
been  sacking  the  Abbati  cellars  for  this  particular 
vintage!"  Serracauld  glanced  up  quickly  and  al- 
most reproachfully. 

Barnard  laughed  as  he  blissfully  drained  his  own 
glass. 

"You  are  really  very  unkind,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he 
murmured.  "You  make  one  feel  such  a  deplorable 
worldling." 

261 


THE    GAMBLER 

But  Deerehurst  looked  round  towards  a  waiter 
re-entering  the  room. 

"Bring  this  lady  another  glass  and  some  more 
champagne,"  he  said. 

Clodagh  turned  to  him  sharply  and  apprehensively. 
But  he  touched  her  wrist  with  his  finger-tips. 

"Please!"  he  said,  in  his  thin,  high-bred  voice. 
"Please!  I  want  you  to  taste  this  wine.  I  generally 
have  some  difficulty  in  getting  it  outside  my  own 
house." 

His  pale,  far-seeing  eyes  rested  on  her  face,  and  it 
seemed  to  her  excited  fancy  that  their  glance  sup- 
plemented his  words — that,  as  plainly  as  eyes  could 
speak,  they  added  the  suggestion  that  some  day  she 
might  honor  that  house  with  her  presence.  The  idea 
confused  her.  She  turned  away  from  him  in  slight 
uneasiness;  and  at  the  same  moment  one  of  the 
waiters  filled  her  long  Venetian  glass  with  the  light, 
golden  wine. 

"  To  please  me!"  Deerehurst  murmured  again.  "  To 
please  me!" 

She  looked  round,  confused  and  still  embarrassed, 
gave  one  unsteady,  yielding  laugh,  then  lifted  the 
glass. 

"  If — if  I  must — "  she  said,  dcprecatingly. 

Barnard  and  Serracauld  smiled,  and  Deerehurst 
raised  his  own  glass. 

"To  the  next  occasion  upon  which  you  consent 
to  be  my  guest!"  he  said,  with  a  profound  and  im- 
pressive bow. 

On  the  surface,  this  incident  seems  scarcely  worth 
recording;  yet  for  Clodagh  it  marked  an  epoch — an 
epoch  not  evolved  through  yielding  to  her  host's  per- 
suasions ;  not  evolved  through  drinking  a  single  glass  of 

262 


THE    GAMBLER 

unfamiliar  wine ;  but  evolvnl  through  the  fact  that  one 
item  in  the  sum  of  her  prejudices  had  gone  down  Ix-fore 
that  potent  fetich — the  dread  of  appearing  conspicuous. 

With  her  action  a  fleeting  shadow  of  self-distrust 
fell  across  her  mind ;  but  she  swept  it  aside,  as  she  had 
previously  swept  the  memory  of  her  interview  with 
Gore.  Deep  within  her  lay  the  specious  knowledge 
that,  for  her,  this  bright  existence  was  only  transitory 
— that  somewhere  behind  the  lights  and  music  and 
laughter  lay  her  own  individual  groove,  to  which  she 
must  return  like  a  modern  Cinderella,  when  the  en- 
chanted interlude  of  brilliant  days  was  ended.  And 
in  this  knowledge  lay  the  secret  of  her  greed  for  joy. 
Certain  of  Ihe  monotony  to  come,  she  caught  pas- 
sionately at  every  proffered  pleasure. 

Ten  o'clock  had  struck  before  the  little  party  left 
the  restaurant,  and  although  she  had  drunk  no  more 
champagne,  and  had  refused  the  liqueurs  that  had 
been  served  with  coffee,  her  eyes  were  excitedly  bright 
as  she  stepped  from  the  gondola  at  the  steps  of  the 
Palazzo  Ugochini. 

Mounting  the  marble  stairs  with  Deerehurst  close 
behind  her,  she  was  filled  with  an  exhilarating  sense 
of  confidence  in  herself  —  of  defiance  towards  the 
world  at  large.  The  memory  of  the  afternoon,  when 
she  had  stood  on  the  dark  terrace  and  listened  to 
Gore's  contemptuous  voice,  had  left  her — or  remained 
only  as  a  spur  to  her  enthusiasm. 

The  animation — the  zest  for  pleasure — was  plainly 
visible  in  her  eyes  as  she  entered  the  salon  and  went 
forward  towards  her  hostess.  And  Lady  Frances 
Hope,  looking  round  at  sound  of  her  guests'  names, 
saw  this  peculiar  expression  with  a  stirring  of  curiosity. 

"Where  have  you  all  been  ?"  she  asked,  as  she  took 
Clodagh's  hand. 

263 


THE    GAMBLER 

Barnard  laughed. 

"We  are  shocking  truants,"  he  said,  gayly.  "We 
have  been  dining  at  the  'Abbati.'" 

She  looked  at  him  quickly. 

"All  four  of  you?"  she  asked,  shrewdly. 

He  smiled. 

"You  have  a  suspicious  mind,  Frances.  Yes;  all 
four  of  us." 

Lady  Frances  laughed. 

"No,"  she  said.  "I  never  harbor  suspicions.  It 
is  Mrs.  Milbanke's  air  of  having  just  discovered  some 
delicious  secret  that  is  always  prompting  me  to 
curiosity." 

"How  do  you  manage  to  look  so  triumphant?" 
She  turned  again  to  Clodagh  with  a  long,  puzzled 
glance.     "  I  wish  you  would  impart  the  secret." 

Clodagh's  bright  eyes  met  hers. 

"My  father  used  to  say  that  the  secret  of  happi- 
ness is  never  to  look  beyond  the  present  hour." 

"A  philosopher,"  murmured  Deerehurst. 

"I  should  say  a  bold  man."  Barnard  looked  from 
the  old  nobleman  to  his  hostess. 

But  almost  as  he  spoke,  the  name  of  Sir  Walter 
Gore  was  announced,  and  Lady  Frances  looked 
sharply  towards  the  door. 

With  a  quiet,  unembarrassed  bearing  Gore  crossed 
the  salon. 

As  he  approached  the  little  group.  Lady  Frances 
stepped  towards  him  with  out-stretched  hands. 

"How  nice  of  you!"  she  said,  softly.  "I  began 
to  fear  you  had  forgotten  about  to-night." 

He  took  her  hand  calmly. 

"But  I  had  promised  to  come,"  he  said,  simply. 

And  at  the  words  his  eyes  turned  involuntarily 
towards  Clodagh. 

264 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Good-evening,  Mrs.  Milbankc,"  he  added,  in  the 
same  level  voiec. 

At  his  glance  and  his  words  ClocJagh's  expression 
changed.  The  vague  excitement  of  the  past  hours 
seemed  suddenly  to  focus  itself.  She  realized  abrupt- 
ly that  she  had  not  yet  vindicated  her  right  to  the 
joy  of  life.  With  exaggerated  indifference  she  bent 
her  head  in  acknowledgment  of  his  greeting,  and  al- 
most immediately  turned  to  Deerehurst. 

"Lord  Deerehurst,"  she  said,  very  softly  and  dis- 
tinctly, "I  want  you  to  do  me  a  favor  to-night!  I 
want  you  to  teach  me  to  play  roulette!" 

It  was  her  declaration  of  war — the  moment  towards 
which  she  had  unconsciously  been  tending  ever  since 
the  interview  of  the  afternoon.  She  knew  it  instant- 
ly the  words  had  left  her  lips — knew  it  by  the  quick 
surprise  in  Barnard's  eyes,  the  sharp  curiosity  in 
Lady  Frances  Hope's,  the  veiled  triumph  in  Deere- 
hurst's,  and  the  cold  disapprobation  in  Sir  Walter 
Gore's.  Without  another  glance  she  turned  away 
and  walked  slowly  forward  across  the  salon,  to  where 
a  couple  of  dozen  people  were  grouped  about  the 
roulette-table. 

As  she  moved  deliberately  forward,  many  heads 
were  turned  in  her  direction,  but  she  was  heedless 
and  almost  unobservant  of  the  interest  she  evoked. 
Her  heart  was  beating  fast;  she  was  rejoicing  reck- 
lessly in  her  vindicated  independence. 

Deerehurst  overtook  her  as  she  halted  by  the 
roulette-table.  And  she  was  conscious  of  his  pres- 
ence without  looking  round. 

"Will  you  stake  for  me?"  she  said,  in  a  quick  un- 
dertone.    "You  were  lucky  the  other  night." 

He  stepped  forward,  smiling  with  a  cold  toucii  uf 
wisdom,  and  took  the  coin  she  handed  to  him. 

265 


THE    GAMBLER 


(I 


'What!     A  convert!"  cried  Luard,  who  was  again 
officiating  at  the  game.    "Lucktoyou.Mrs.Milbanke!" 

He  gave  a  pleasant  laugh  as  her  coin  touched  the 
table,  and  a  moment  later  set  the  ball  spinning. 

Clodagh  waited,  holding  her  breath.  The  ball 
slackened  speed — hesitated  over  the  gayly  painted 
board — and  finally  dropped  into  its  place.  There 
was  a  general  laugh  of  excitement;  the  little  crowd 
pressed  closer  to  the  table,  and  she  saw  her  coin 
swept  into  Luard's  hands. 

The  incident  was  eventful.  Quite  suddenly  the 
color  leaped  into  her  face  and  her  eyes  blazed.  In 
total  unconsciousness  of  self,  she  stepped  forward  to 
the  table. 

Deerehurst,  closely  watchful  of  her,  moved  to  her  side. 

"  Shall  I  stake  again  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  whisper. 

But  she  did  not  turn  her  head. 

"No— no!"  she  cried.     "I'll  stake  for  myself." 

Her  voice  sounded  distant  and  absorbed.  It  seem- 
ed in  that  brief  moment  that  she  had  forgotten  her 
companion  and  herself. 

Thrice  she  staked,  and  thrice  lost;  but  the  losses 
whetted  her  desires.  She  played  boldly,  with  a  cer- 
tain reckless  grace  bom  of  complete  unconsciousness. 
At  last  fortune  favored  her  and  she  won.  Deere- 
hurst, still  standing  close  beside  her,  saw  the  ex- 
pression of  her  face,  saw  the  careless  —  the  almost 
inconsequent — air  with  which  she  accepted  her 
spoils,  and,  noting  both,  he  touched  her  arm. 

"You  are  a  true  gambler,"  he  said,  very  softly. 
"You  care  nothing  for  gain  or  loss.  You  play  for 
the  play's  sake." 

And  Clodagh,  with  her  mind  absorbed  and  her 
eyes  on  the  roulette-board,  gave  a  quick,  high-pitched, 
unthinking  laugh. 

266 


XXVIII 

AT  nine  o'clock  on  the  night  following  her  first 
/^  venture  in  the  world  of  gambling,  Clodagh  was 
again  standing  by  the  roulette-table  in  Lady  Frances 
Hope's  salon.  She  had  been  playing  for  two  hours, 
with  luck  persistently  against  her;  but  no  one  who 
had  chanced  to  glance  at  her  eager,  excited  face 
would  have  imagined  even  for  a  moment  that  the 
collection  of  coins  in  her  gold -netted  purse  was 
dwindling  and  not  increasing. 

Deerehurst  had  been  correct  in  his  deductions. 
She  played  for  the  play's  sake.  The  losing  game, 
the  hazardous  game,  was  the  one  which  appealed  to 
and  absorbed  her;  the  savor  of  risk  stimulated  her; 
the  faint  sense  of  danger  lifted  her  to  an  enchanted 
realm.  And  on  this  night  she  made  an  unconscious- 
ly picturesque  figure  as  she  stood  fascinated  by  the 
chances  of  the  play — her  face  flushed,  her  eyes  in- 
tensely bright,  her  fingers  restlessly  eager  to  make 
their  stakes.  Round  about  her  was  gathered  a  little 
group  of  interested  and  admiring  men — Deerehurst, 
Luard,  Serracauld,  and  a  couple  of  young  Americans 
who  had  come  to  Venice  with  introductions  to  Lady 
Frances  Hope;  but  on  none  of  them  did  she  bestow 
more  than  a  preoccupied  attention.  She  permitted 
them  to  stand  beside  her;  she  laughed  softly  at  their 
compliments  and  their  jests;  but  her  eyes  and  her 
thoughts  were  unmistakably  for  the  painted  board 

267 


THE    GAMBLER 

over  which  Barnard  was  presiding.  Another  half- 
dozen  rounds  of  the  game  were  played ;  then  suddenly 
she  turned  away  from  the  table  with  a  quick  laugh. 

"The  end,"  she  said  to  Serracauld,  who  was  stand- 
ing nearest  to  her,  and  with  a  quick  gesture  she  held 
up  the  gold-netted  purse,  now  limp  and  empty. 
With  an  eager  movement  he  stepped  forward. 
"Let  me  be  useful?"  he  whispered,  quickly. 
"Or  me?     I  represent  your  husband,  you  know." 
Barnard  leaned  across  the  roulette-table. 
"Oh,  come,  Barny!     I  spoke  first." 
But    Clodagh    looked    smilingly    from    one    to    the 
other  and  shook  her  head. 

"No — no,"  she  said,  hastily.  "I — I  never  bor- 
row money." 

Serracauld  looked  obviously  disappointed. 
"Nonsense,  Mrs.  Milbanke — "  he  began. 
But  Deerehurst  intervened. 

"  If  Mrs.  Milbanke  does  not  wish  it,  Valentine — " 
he  murmured,  soothingly.  "Mrs.  Milbanke,  let  me 
take  you  out  of  temptation." 

He  bowed  to  Clodagh,  and  courteously  made  a  pas- 
sage for  her  through  the  crowd  that  surrounded  them. 
If  any  cynical  remembrance  of  her  first  vehement 
repudiation  of  the  suggestion  that  she  should  gamble 
rose  now  to  confute  her  newer  denial,  no  shadow  of  it 
was  visible  in  his  face. 

As  they  freed  themselves  from  the  group  of  play- 
ers, they  paused  simultaneously,  and  looked  for  a 
moment  round  the  large,  cool  salon,  about  which  the 
elder  or  more  serious  of  the  assembly  were  scattered 
for  conversation  or  cards.  Neither  spoke;  but  after 
a  moment's  wait  Deerehurst  turned  his  pale  eyes  in 
the  direction  of  the  open  windows,  and  by  the  faint- 
est lifting  of  his  eyebrows  conveyed  a  question. 

268 


THE    GAMBLER 

Clodagh  laughed,  then  silently  bent  her  head,  and 
a  moment  later  they  moved  forward  together  across 
the  polished  floor. 

As  they  passed  one  of  the  man 3^  groups  of  statuary 
that  brightened  the  more  shadowed  portion  of  the 
room,  Clodagh  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  hostess,  once 
again  in  conversation  with  Sir  Walter  Gore,  and  she 
was  conscious  in  that  fleeting  moment  of  Gore's  clear, 
reflective  eyes  resting  on  her  in  a  quick  regard. 

With  a  swift,  almost  defiant,  movement  she  lifted 
her  head,  and  turned  ostentatiously  to  Deerchurst. 

"Is  it  to  be  philosophy  to-night?"  she  asked,  in  a 
low,  soft  voice. 

He  paused  and  looke(;l  at  her,  his  cold,  pale  eyes 
slow  and  searching  in  their  regard. 

"Not  to-night — Circe,"  he  said,  almost  below  his 
breath. 

Clodagh  colored,  gave  another  quick,  excited  laugh, 
and,  moving  past  him,  stepped  through  one  of  the 
open  windows. 

Gaining  the  balcony,  she  did  not,  as  usual,  drop 
into  one  of  the  deep  lounge  -  chairs,  but,  moving 
straight  forward,  stood  by  the  iron  railing  and  looked 
down  upon  the  quiet  canal. 

The  night  was  exceptionally  clear,  even  for  Italy. 
Every  star  was  reflected  in  the  smooth,  dark  waters; 
while  over  the  opposite  palaces  a  crescent  moon  hung 
like  a  slender  reaping-hook,  extended  from  heaven  to 
garner  some  mystic  harvest. 

For  a  moment  Deerchurst  hesitated  to  disturb  her; 
but  at  last,  waiving  his  scruples,  he  went  softly  for- 
ward and  stood  beside  her. 

"Are  you  offended?"  he  asked,  in  a  very  low 
voice. 

"No." 

269 


THE    GAMBLER 

Her  answer  came  almost  absently;  her  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  moon. 

"Then  sad?" 

"I  don't  know.     Perhaps." 

He  drew  a  little  nearer. 

"And  why  sad?" 

She  gave  a  quick  sigh  and  turned  from  the  glories 
of  the  night. 

"  I  have  only  two  more  days  in  Venice.  Isn't  that 
reason  for  being  sad?" 

"But  why  leave  Venice?" 

"My  husband  is  leaving." 

He  smiled  faintly. 

"And  is  he  such  a  tyrant  that  you  must  go  where 
he  goes?" 

She  laughed  involuntarily. 

"A  tyrant!"  she  said.  "Oh  no.  I  can  scarcely 
say  he  is  a  tyrant." 

"Then  why  do  you  go  with  him?" 

She  looked  round  for  a  moment,  then  her  eyes 
returned  to  the  pageant  of  the  sky. 

"Why  does  one  do  anything?"  she  said,  suddenly, 
in  a  changed  voice. 

With  a  quiet  movement  Deerehurst  leaned  forward 
over  the  railing  and  looked  into  her  face. 

"Usually  we  do  things  because  we  must,"  he  said, 
softly.  "But  compulsion  is  not  always  disagreeable. 
Sometimes  we  are  compelled  to  action  by  our  own 
desires — " 

Clodagh,  conscious  of  his  close  regard,  felt  her 
breath  come  a  little  quicker.  But  she  did  not  change 
her  position ;  she  did  not  cease  to  study  the  sky.  She 
knew  that  his  arm  was  all  but  touching  hers;  she 
was  sensitive  to  the  faint  and  costly  perfume  that 
emanated  from  his  clothes.     But  she  felt  these  things 

270 


THE    GAMBLER 

vaguely,  impersonally,  as  items  in  a  drama  uncon- 
nected with  herself.  When  his  next  words  came,  it 
was  curiosity  rather  than  dread  that  stirred  in  her 
mind. 

"  It  is  my  desires  that  are  forcing  me  to  speak 
now.  The  desire  to  see  you  again  after  you  leave 
Venice — the  desire  to  see  more  of  you  than  a  mere 
acquaintance  sees — to  be  something  more  than  a 
mere  friend — " 

Clodagh  still  looked  intently  at  the  stars,  but  un- 
consciously her  lips  parted. 

"Why?"  she  asked,  below  her  breath.  And  it 
seemed  to  her  that  the  word  was  not  spoken  by  her 
but  by  some  one  else. 

With  an  eager  gesture  Deerehurst  extended  his 
hand,  and  his  long,  pale  fingers  closed  over  her  own. 

Then  out  across  the  darkness  and  the  silence  of  the 
balcony  floated  the  strong,  decisive  voice  of  Lady 
Frances  Hope. 

"Lord  Deerehurst!"  it  called.  "Lord  Deerehurst! 
So  sorry,  but  Rose  wants  you  to  give  an  expert 
opinion  upon  one  point  in  a  game  of  bridge.  It 
won't  take  two  minutes." 

The  voice  faded  away  again  as  its  owner  moved 
back  into  the  room. 

At  the  sound  of  his  name  Deerehurst  had  drawn 
himself  erect.  Now,  bending  forward  silently  and 
swiftly,  he  lifted  the  hand  he  was  still  holding  and 
kissed  it  vehemently.  The  next  moment  he  had 
crossed  the  balcony  and  entered  the  salon. 

Left  alone,  Clodagh  stood  motionless.  With  a 
vivid  physical  consciousness  she  could  still  feel  the 
pressure  of  his  cold  lips  upon  her  hand;  but  her 
mental  sensations  were  benumbed.  That  something 
had  occurred,  she  dimly  realized;  that  some  point — 

271 


THE     GAMBLER 

some  climax — had  been  reached,  she  was  vaguely 
aware.  But  what  its  personal  bearing  upon  her  own 
life  might  be  she  made  no  attempt  to  guess.  With 
a  dazed  mind  she  gazed  out  across  the  quiet  canal, 
striving  to  marshal  her  ideas. 

For  several  seconds  she  stood  in  this  state  of  mental 
confusion;  then,  with  disconcerting  suddenness,  a 
new  incident  obtruded  itself  upon  her  mind.  With 
a  violent  start  she  became  conscious  that  some  one 
had  passed  through  the  open  window  and  was  com- 
ing towards  her,  across  the  balcony. 

She  turned  sharply.  But  as  she  did  so  her  fingers 
slipped  from  the  iron  railing,  and  all  thought  of 
Deerehurst's  kiss  was  banished  from  her  mind.  With 
a  sense  of  acute  surprise  she  recognized  the  figure 
of  Sir  Walter  Gore. 

Taking  no  notice  of  her  dismayed  silence  he  came 
quietly  forward. 

"Good-evening,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said.  "Have 
you  been  enjoying  yourself?" 

With  a  certain  vague  confusion  she  met  his  gaze. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.      "I — I  suppose  so." 

There  was  a  short  silence;  and  Gore,  moving  to  the 
balcony  railing,  rested  his  arm  upon  it. 

"It  is  getting  late,"  he  said.  "Time  for  us  all  to 
be  thinking  of  our  hotels." 

Again  Clodagh  looked  at  him  in  faint  bewilder- 
ment. 

"Yes.     I — I  suppose  so,"  she  said  once  more. 

Another  pause  succeeded  her  halting  words;  then, 
with  a  gesture  of  decision.  Gore  stood  upright,  bring- 
ing his  glance  back  to  her  face. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  suddenly,  "let  me  take 
you  home!     1  have  a  gondola  waiting  at  the  steps." 

The  words  were  so   totally  unexpected  that  Clo- 

272 


THE    GAMBLHR 

dagh  remained  mute,  and,  leaning  forward,  looked 
down  into  the  heavy  shadows  cast  by  the  ancient 
palace.  There  was  a  strange  sensation  of  triumph 
in  this  unlooked-for  moment,  in  this  sudden  capitu- 
lation of  a  man  who  had  previously  ignored  her:  a 
sensation  before  which  all  lesser  things — Deerehurst's 
passion,  Serracauld's  ardor,  Barnard's  friendship — 
became  meaningless  and  vague. 

But  Gore,  guessing  nothing  from  her  bent  head, 
glanced  behind  him  towards  the  salon. 

"Well?"  he  said.      "May  I  be  your  escort?" 

Under  cover  of  the  dusk  Clodagh  smiled. 

"Mr.  Barnard  generally  takes  me  home — " 

Involuntarily  Gore's  figure  stiffened. 
■  " — But,"  she  added,  in  a  low,  quick  whisper,  "I— 
I  would  very  much  rather  go  back  with  you." 

Under  many  conditions  the  words  would  have 
seemed  bold;  but  the  manner  in  which  she  uttered 
them  disarmed  criticism.     Gore's  face  relaxed. 

"Then  let  us  make  our  escape,"  he  said.  "Lady 
Frances  is  setthng  a  bridge  dispute,  and  quite  a 
dozen  people  have  slipped  away  in  the  last  ten 
minutes.  No  one  will  question  which  of  them  has 
taken  you  home." 

And  Clodagh  gave  a  short,  light  laugh  of  sudden 
pleasure.  The  small  conspiracy  made  Gore  so  much 
more  human — drew  them  so  much  closer  together 
than  they  had  been  before. 

"Yes — yes,"  she  said,  eagerly.  "And  I  am  lunch- 
ing with  Lady  Frances  to-morrow.  I  can  explain 
then." 

"Yes.     Quite  so.     Now,  if  you  are  ready!" 

He  moved  to  the  window. 

Very  quietlj'  the}'"  re-entered  the  salon,  and  a  flush 
crossed  Clodagh's  face  as  she  saw  Dccrehurst  bcnd- 
18  273 


THE    GAMBLER 

ing  over  a  card-table  with  the  nearest  approach  to 
boredom  and  impatience  she  had  ever  known  him 
to  evince.  Her  heart,  already  beating  to  the  thought 
of  her  new  conqiiest,  gave  an  added  leap  at  this 
silent  evidence  of  her  power. 

In  the  corridor  outside  the  salon  Gore  took  her 
cloak  from  the  servant,  and  himself  wrapped  it  about 
her  as  they  descended  the  stairs;  then,  passing  to  the 
flight  of  worn  steps  that  led  to  the  water,  he  signalled 
to  a  waiting  gondolier, 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  as  he  offered  her  his 
hand,  "I  am  going  to  make  a  strange  request.  I 
want  to  talk  to  you  for  half  an  hour  before  taking 
you  home.  Will  you  give  me  leave  to  make  a  tour 
of  the  canals?"  He  spoke  very,  quietly  and  in  a  tone 
difficult  to  construe. 

At  his  curious  appeal  her  heart  gave  another  quick, 
excited  throb,  though  instinctively  she  realized  that 
neither  Deerehurst,  Serracauld,  nor  Barnard  would 
have  proposed  a  midnight  excursion  in  quite  his 
voice  or  manner.  But  the  very  mode  of  the  request 
enhanced  its  charm.  She  looked  up  into  his  face 
as  she  laid  her  hand  in  his. 

"I  give  you  leave,"  she  said,  gently. 

He  met  her  glance,  but  almost  immediately  averted 
his  eyes.  And  as  he  handed  her  to  the  seat  he 
turned  swiftly  to  the  gondoUer,  addressing  him  in 
Italian. 

The  colloquy  lasted  but  a  few  seconds,  and  at  its 
conclusion  the  boat  shot  silently  out  into  the  canal. 

"This  man  does  not  understand  a  word  of  Eng- 
lish," he  said,  as  he  dropped  into  his  place  by  Clo- 
dagh's  side. 

Again  his  words  were  peculiarly  suggestive,  and 
again    his   tone   was    curiously    frank.     Why   should 

274 


THE    GAMBLER 

he  suj^gcst  that  their  conversation  was  unintelHgible  ? 
— and  suggest  it  in  so  impersonal  a  tone  ?  She  leaned 
back  in  her  cushioned  seat  and  let  her  eyelids  droop. 
Her  mind  was  full  of  puzzling  and  delightful  thoughts. 
Never  had  she  tasted  the  mystery  of  Venice  as  she 
tasted  it  to-night.  Every  passing  breath  of  wind, 
every  scent  blown  from  the  dark  and  silent  gardens, 
every  distant  laugh  or  broken  word  was  alive  with 
imguessed  meanings.  The  feverish  excitement  of  the 
past  week  seemed  to  fall  away.  This  was  romance! 
— this  drifting  with  an  inscrutable  companion  through 
an  unfathomable  night! 

Her  eyes  closed;  she  lay  almost  motionless,  filled 
with  an  aimless,  vague  delight.  All  creation — with 
all  creation's  limitless  possibilities — lay  in  the  warm 
darkness  that  enveloped  her.  Then,  with  the  in- 
stinct of  senses  newly  and  sharply  astir,  she  became 
conscious  that  Gore  was  watching  her.  With  a 
thrill  of  expectancy  and  anticipation  she  opened  her 
eyes. 

There  is  something  very  curious — something  subtle 
and  almost  intimate — in  the  opening  of  one's  eyes 
upon  the  steady  scrutiny  of  another.  As  Clodagh 
raised  her  lids  her  glance  encountered  Gore's;  but  on 
the  instant  that  their  eyes  met  her  joy  in  the  mo- 
ment— her  exultant  triumph — was  suddenly  killed. 
For  the  look  that  she  surprised  was  not  the  look  she 
had  anticipated.  It  was  interested;  it  was  atten- 
tive; it  was  grave;  but  it  held  no  subjugation  nor  pas- 
sion. As  her  brain  woke  to  this  realization  she  in- 
voluntarily raised  herself  in  the  luxurious,  cushioned 
seat. 

At  the  same  moment  her  companion  leaned  slight- 
ly forward. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  quickly,  "I  have  been 

275 


THE    GAMBLER 

watching  you  and  thinking  about  you  ever  since  I 
came  to  Venice,  and  at  last  I  have  decided  that  I 
must  tell  you  what  my  thoughts  have  been.         *" 

"I  am  not  very  old — perhaps  I  have  no  right  to 
speak.  But  a  man  sees  a  good  deal  of  life,  even  if 
he  wants  to  keep  his  eyes  shut;  and  I  have  seen  a 
great  many  people  throw  away  their  chances — take 
the  false  and  refuse  the  true.  I  have  seen  some  men 
do  it,  and  have  seen  many  women — many,  many 
women."  He  paused,  but  did  not  look  at  her.  "It 
is  a  common,  e very-day  occurrence;  so  common  that 
one  generally  looks  on  at  it  with  indifference.  But 
sometimes  —  just  sometimes  —  one  stops  to  think. 
One  feels  the  great,  great  pity  of  it." 

He  paused  again,  looking  fixedly  down  at  the  strip 
of  carpet  beneath  their  feet. 

Clodagh  glanced  at  him — a  swift,  searching,  almost 
surreptitious  look. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,  there  are  times  when  one  stops  to 
think."  He  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  Clodagh, 
sitting  erect  and  pale,  her  large  eyes  wide  open,  her 
hands  clasped  in  her  lap.  "There  are  times  when  it 
seems  cruel — when  it  seems  a  sacrilege  to  see  a  girl 
going  down  the  easy  road  of  lost  illusions  and  callous 
sentiments.  I  know  this  sounds  incomprehensible — 
sounds  impertinent.  But  I  cannot  help  myself.  I 
must  tell  you  what  no  one  else  will  tell  you.  I  must 
put  out  my  hand." 

He  paused,  but  Clodagh  did  not  speak. 

"You  are  very  young.  You  are  very  high-spirited. 
You — you  are  very  attractive.  And  the  world  is  full 
of  people  ready — ^waiting — to  take  advantage  of  your 
youth,  your  high  spirits,  your  attractiveness.  You 
are  not  fit  for  this  society — for  this  set  that  you  have 
drifted  into — " 

276 


THE     GAMBLER 

"This  set?  Isn't  it  your  own  set?"  At  last  Clo- 
das:h's  lips  parted. 

He  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"A  man  has  many  sets." 

Her  pale  face  flushed  suddenly. 

"I  don't  think  I  understand,"  she  said. 

"  No.  But  I  am  trying  to  make  you  understand. 
I  am  not  disparaging  Lady  Frances  Hope — or  her 
social  standing.  She  is  a  charming  woman,  a  clever 
woman,  but  she  is  a  woman  of  to-day.  Her  pleas- 
ures, her  ambitions,  her  friends — " 

Clodagh  lifted  her  head. 

"Her  friends?"  she  said,  faintly. 

"Are  not  the  friends  for  you — for  any  inexperi- 
enced girl.  Take  them  one  by  one.  There  is  Serra- 
cauld — indolent,  worthless,  vicious;  Barnard — decent 
enough  as  a  man's  friend,  and  as  honest  as  his  clients 
permit  him  to  be,  but  no  proper  guide  for  a  girl  like 
you;  Deerehurst — " 

But  Clodagh  checked  him. 

"Lord  Deerehurst?  What  about  Lord  Deere- 
hurst?"    Her  voice  was  high  and  strained. 

Gore  made  a  gesture  of  contempt. 

"Deerehurst — "  he  began,  hotly;  then  suddenly 
his  tone  changed. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "whatever 
you  may  say,  whatever  you  may  do,  I  cannot  believe 
that  in  your  heart  you  are  in  sympathy  with  these 
people,  whose  one  object  in  life  is  to  gamble — to 
gamble  with  honor,  money,  emotion — anything,  every- 
thing with  the  savor  of  risk  and  the  possibility  of  gain. 

"You  have  no  justification  for  belonging  to  these 
people.  You  have  the  good  things  of  life,  the  thing 
many  women  are  forced  to  steal — position,  a  home, 
a  good  husband — " 

277 


THE    GAMBLER 

At  the  last  word  Clodagh  started  violently.  And 
with  a  quick,  impulsive  movement  Gore  turned  to 
her  afresh. 

"  You  are  intoxicated  with  life — or  what  seems  to 
you  to  be  life.  You  are  forgetting  realities.  I  have 
seen  your  husband.  He  is  an  honest,  simple,  trust- 
worthy man — who  loves  you." 

The  tone  of  his  voice  came  to  Clodagh  with  great 
distinctness.  It  seemed  the  only  living  thing  in  a 
world  that  had  suddenly  become  dead.  While  she 
had  been  sitting  rigid  and  erect  in  the  stern  of  the 
gondola  everything  had  altered  to  her  mental  vision 
— everything  had  undergone  a  fundamental  change. 
The  purple  twilight ;  the  mysterious  night  scents ;  the 
breezes  blown  in  from  the  lagoon  had  become  in- 
tangible, meaningless  things.  She  was  conscious  of 
nothing  but  Gore's  clear  words,  of  her  own  soul 
stripped  of  its  self-deception.  At  last,  with  a  faint 
movement,  she  turned  towards  him. 

"Take  me  home,"  she  said,  in  a  numbed  voice. 
"I  wish  to  go  home." 

At  the  words  he  wheeled  round  in  sudden  protest. 
But  as  his  eyes  rested  on  her  cold  face  a  tinge  of  self- 
consciousness  chilled  his  zeal — self-consciousness  and 
the  suddenly  remembered  fact  that  his  action  was, 
after  all,  unjustifiable.  His  own  figure  suddenly 
stiffened. 

"As  you  wish,  of  course,"  he  said,  quietly.  "I 
suppose  my  conduct  seems  quite  unpardonable." 

For  one  fleeting  second  an  impulse — a  desire — 
crossed  Clodagh's  face;  but  as  it  trembled  on  the  brink 
of  utterance  Gore  leaned  forward  in  his  seat  and  gave 
a  quick,  imperative  order  to  the  gondolier.  A  mo- 
ment later  they  had  glided  up  a  narrow  waterway 
and  emerged  again  upon  the  Grand  Canal. 

278 


THE    GAMBLER 

From  the  door  and  windows  of  Clodagh's  hotel 
a  stream  of  Hght  was  still  pouring  out  upon  the 
water.  As  they  drew  level  with  the  terrace  she 
turned  her  face  away  from  this  searching  radiance, 
and  rose  quickly  to  her  feet. 

"Good-night,"  she  said,  in  an  almost  inarticulate 
voice.     "Good-night.     Don't  stir.     Don't  help  me." 

But  Gore  had  risen  also.  And  in  a  sudden  return 
of  his  earlier,  more  impulsive  manner  he  forgot  the 
self-consciousness  that  had  chilled  him. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke — "  he  said,  quickly. 

But  Clodagh  evaded  his  eyes,  and  with  a  sharp, 
nervous  movement  shook  her  head. 

"No,"  she  said.  "No.  Don't  help  me.  I  don't 
want  help." 

Stepping  past  him  with  an  agile  movement,  she 
ran  up  the  steps  and  across  the  terrace  to  the  door 
of  the  hotel. 

Obeying  a  dominant  impulse.  Gore  turned  to  fol- 
low her.  But  as  his  foot  touched  the  side  of  the 
boat  he  paused,  drew  slowly  back,  and  dropped  into 
his  former  seat. 

With  almost  breathless  haste  Clodagh  ran  up  the 
silent  staircase  of  the  hotel,  and,  entering  her  own 
room,  turned  on  the  light;  then,  walking  straight  to 
the  dressing-table,  she  paused  and  stared  into  the 
mirror  at  her  own  reflection. 

The  sight  of  that  reflection  was  not  reassuring. 
Her  face  looked  colorless,  as  only  olive-tinted  skin 
can  look;  her  wide  eyes  with  their  narrowed  pupils 
seemed  almost  yellow  in  their  intense  clearness:  while 
her  whole  air,  her  whole  appearance,  was  frightened, 
tired,  pained.  As  she  looked  a  nervous  panic  seized 
her,  and  she  turned  her  gaze  away. 

270 


THE    GAMBLER 

With  freedom  to  look  elsewhere,  her  eyes  roved 
over  the  dressing  -  table  and  suddenly  fixed  them- 
selves upon  a  large,  square  envelope  bearing  her 
name,  which  stood  propped  against  a  scent-bottle. 

In  nervous  haste  she  picked  it  up  and  looked  at 
it  uncomprehendingly.  It  was  unusually  large  and 
thick,  and  addressed  in  an  unfamiliar  hand.  With 
the  same  unstrung  haste  she  turned  it  about  between 
her  fingers,  halting  with  new  apprehension  as  she 
saw  that  its  flap  bore  an  elaborate  black  coronet  and 
monogram. 

At  last,  with  a  strange  sense  of  apprehension,  she 
tore  the  envelope  open. 

"  Circe,"  the  letter  began.  "  I  will  not  reproach  you  for 
deserting  me.  Life  is  too  brief  for  reproaches — when  one 
longs  to  fill  it  with  pleasanter  things.  But  be  kind  to  me. 
Give  me  the  opportunity  of  finishing  that  broken  sentence. 
I  shall  smoke  a  cigar  on  the  terrace  at  eleven  to-night.  If 
you  are  generous,  wrap  yourself  up  and  keep  me  company  for 
ten  minutes.     I  shall  wait — and  hope.  Deerehurst." 

She  read  to  the  end,  and  stood  for  a  space  staring 
at  the  large,  straggling  writing;  at  last,  as  if  suddenly 
imbued  with  the  power  of  action,  she  tore  the  let- 
ter across,  tearing  and  rctearing  it  into  little  strips. 
Then,  throwing  the  fragments  on  the  ground,  she 
turned  and  fled  out  of  the  room. 

Milbanke's  bedroom  was  on  the  same  floor  as  her 
own,  though  separated  from  it  by  half  the  length 
of  the  corridor.  Leaving  her  own  apartment,  she 
hurried  towards  it,  and,  pausing  outside  the  door, 
knocked  softly  and  insistently.  A  delay  followed 
her  imperative  summons;  then  Milbanke's  voice 
came  faint  and  nervous,  demanding  the  intruder's 
name. 

280 


THE    GAMBLER 

She  answered;  aiul  a  moment  later  the  door  was 
opened  with  a  confused  sound  of  shooting  bolts. 

Milbanke's  appearance  was  slightly  grotesque,  as 
the  opened  door  disclosed  him,  silhouetted  against  the 
lighted  room.  He  was  garbed  in  a  loose  dressing- 
gown,  his  scanty  hair  was  disarranged,  and  there  was 
an  expression  of  alarm  on  his  puckered  face.  But 
for  once  Clodagh  was  blind  to  these  things.  With  a 
swift  movement  she  entered  the  room,  and,  closing 
the  door,  stood  leaning  against  it. 

"James,"  she  said,  breathlessly,  "you  finished 
vour  business  with  Mr.  Barnard  to-day,  didn't 
you  r 

Milbanke,  suddenly  conscious  of  her  white  face, 
began  to  stammer. 

"Clodagh!     My  dear — my  dear." 

But  Clodagh  waved  his  anxiety  aside. 

"Tell  me,"   she  said.      "It's  finished,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes — yes.     But,  my  dear — " 

She  threw  out  her  hands  in  a  sudden,  vehement 
gesture. 

"Then  take  me  away!"  she  cried.  "Take  me 
away!  Let  us  go  in  the  morning,  by  the  very  first 
train — before  any  one  is  up." 

Milbanke  paled. 

"But,  my  dear,"  he  said,  helplessly,  "I  thought — 
I  believed — " 

Clodagh  turned  to  him  again. 

"So  did  I!"  she  cried.  "So  did  I!  I  thought  I 
loved  it.  I  thought  I  loved  it  all — the  music  and 
the  gayety  and — and  the  people.  But  I  don't.  I 
hate  it!     I  hate  it!     I  hate  it!" 

In  a  strangled  sob  her  voice  gave  way,  and  with 
it  her  strength  and  her  self-control.  She  took  a 
few  steps  forward;  then,  like  a  mechanical  figure  in 

281 


THE    GAMBLER 

which  the  mechanism  has  suddenly  been  suspended, 
she  stopped,  swayed  a  Httle,  and,  dropping  into  the 
nearest  chair,  broke  into  a  flood  of  tears — such  tears 
as  had  shaken  her  five  years  ago  when  she  drove  out 
of  Carrigmore  on  the  day  of  her  wedding. 


XXIX 

THE  penetrating  Florentine  sunshine  was  envelop- 
ing the  villa  that  stood  upon  the  hill  above  San 
Domenico;  but  it  was  not  the  full,  warm  sunshine  of 
late  April,  that  had  opened  the  roses  in  the  gardens 
and  deepened  the  shadows  of  the  cypress-trees  nearly 
two  years  earlier,  when  Clodagh  had  dreamed  of 
her  visit  to  Venice.  It  was  the  cool  sunlight  of 
February,  and  it  fell  across  the  polished  floors, 
and  threw  into  prominence  the  many  antique  and 
curious  objects  that  filled  the  rooms,  with  a  search- 
ing clearness  that  almost  seemed  like  a  human 
scrutiny. 

In  a  small  salon  that  opened  upon  the  terrace, 
Clodagh  sat  at  a  bureau.  In  front  of  her  was  a  for- 
midable array  of  letters  and  business  papers,  neatly 
bound  into  packets  by  elastic  bands,  and  under  her 
hand  was  spread  a  sheet  of  unused,  black-bordered 
note-paper. 

Whether  it  was  the  multitude  of  her  own  thoughts 
that  retarded  the  task  she  had  in  hand,  or  a  certain 
air  of  absolute  stillness  that  seemed  to  brood  over 
the  villa,  one  could  not  say ;  but  certain  it  is  that  for 
nearly  half  an  hour  she  sat  in  an  attitude  of  abstrac- 
tion, her  fingers  poised  above  the  note-paper,  the  tip 
of  her  pen-holder  held  against  her  lips. 

At  last,  however,  a  new  idea  seemed  born  in  her 
mind,  for  she  laid  down  the  pen,  rose  suddenly  to  her 

283 


THE    GAMBLER 

feet,  and,  moving  across  the  room,  paused  beside  the 
window. 

For  a  long,  silent  space  she  stood  at  this  closed 
window,  her  gaze  wandering  over  the  scene  that  cus- 
tom had  rendered  extraordinarily  familiar— the  hill- 
side, cut  into  characteristic  tiers  of  earth,  until  it 
sloped  downward  almost  like  a  flight  of  steps,  from 
which  the  gray  ohve-trees  and  the  black  cypresses 
rose  sharply  defined  in  the  brilliant  atmosphere;  at 
its  foot  Florence,  with  its  suggestion  of  dark-roofed 
houses  and  clustering  spires;  and  beyond  all,  encir- 
cling all,  the  low  chain  of  mountains  blue  and  purple 
in  the  sun.  Then,  quite  suddenly,  with  a  swift,  im- 
pulsive movement,  she  unfastened  the  latch  and 
threw  the  window  open. 

In  the  added  radiance  that  poured  into  the  room 
she  stood  more  distinctly  revealed,  and  the  sHght 
changes  that  even  two  years  can  make  became  visible 
in  her  face  and  figure.  The  pose  of  her  body  and  the 
carriage  of  her  head  were  precisely  as  they  had  been, 
but  her  cheeks  were  a  little  thinner,  and  some  of  her 
brilliant  coloring  was  gone;  but  the  fact  that  would 
most  speedily  have  appealed  to  one  who  had  not  seen 
her  for  the  two  years  was  the  circumstance  that  she 
wore  deep  mourning — a  mourning  that  lent  an  un- 
famiHar,  almost  a  fragile,  air  to  her  whole  appearance. 
That  would  have  been  the  first  impression;  and  then, 
as  one  studied  her  more  closely,  it  would  have  been 
borne  in  upon  one  that  these  were  mere  outward 
signs — that  the  true,  the  real  alteration  lay  not  in 
dress,  not  in  the  thinness  of  her  face,  not  in  the  un- 
wonted pallor  of  her  skin,  but  in  the  very  curious 
expression  with  which  she  gazed  out  over  the  dis- 
tant hills,  the  look  of  kinship,  of  comprehension, 
of  that  illusive,  subtle    sentiment   that  we    call   an- 

284 


THE    GAMBLER 

ticipation,  with  which  her  eyes  met  the  far-off  sky- 
line. 

For  many  moments  she  stood  as  if  fascinated  bv 
the  sense  of  promise  that  breathed  and  vibrated  in  the 
spring  air;  then  at  last,  with  a  quickly  taken  breath, 
she  turned  away  from  the  open  window,  and,  recross- 
ing  the  room,  seated  herself  again  at  the  bureau, 
picked  up  her  pen,  and  with  new  inspiration  began  to 
write. 

"Larry,  dear  Cousin, — I,  the  worst  correspondent 
in  all  the  world,  am  going  to  write  you  a  long  letter 
— because  my  heart  is  so  full  of  thoughts  that  I  must 
unburden  it  to  some  one  who  will  listen.  Who  bet- 
ter than  my  friend — my  brother — of  the  old,  dear, 
dear  days? 

"It  was  good  of  you  and  Aunt  Fan  to  write  me 
those  two  long,  affectionate  letters;  and  I  needed 
them.  For  though  there  was  no  horror  in  James's 
death,  death  itself  is — and  always  must  be — terrible 
to  me.  Terrible,  but  also  very,  very  wonderful! 
Wonderful  beyond  words,  when  one  realizes  that 
somebody  one  has  known  as  good  and  kind  and  un- 
selfish— but  ordinary,  Larry,  ordinary  as  one's  self — is 
suddenly  transformed  into  something  infinitely  wise 
and  mysterious,  with  a  mystery  we  can  only  think 
about  and  fear. 

"One  month  ago  James  was  in  his  usual  health, 
going  about  his  little  daily  tasks,  losing  himself  in 
his  little  daily  interests.  And  now  he  understands 
the  million  things  that  puzzle  you  and  me  and  the 
rest  of  the  world  of  living  people. 

"His  death — as  I  told  you  in  my  first  short  note — 
was  painless  and  quiet,  and  unselfish  like  his  life. 
He  held  my  hand  and  knew  me  to  the  very  end,  and 

285 


THE    GAMBLER 

spoke  to  me  quite  lucidly  of  his  affairs  half  an  hour 
before  he  died.  And,  Larry,  I  think  he  was  happy! 
You  cannot  imagine  what  it  is  to  be  able  to  say  that! 
Death  brings  so  many  regrets.  It  frightens  me  when 
I  look  back  now  over  the  years  and  think  of  our 
marriage.  It  was  so  terribly,  cruelly  unwise.  A 
man  of  his  age,  a  girl  of  mine!  And,  knowing  what  I 
know  now,  the  first  years  must  have  been  very  bitter 
for  him.  Since  then  things  have  been  better  —  and 
worse.  Two  years  ago  we  were  perilously  near  dis- 
aster— he  and  I — when  something — it  does  not  mat- 
ter what — saved  us  both. 

"How  sincerely  I  thank  God  now  that  it  was  so. 
At  the  time  I  suffered  terribly;  but  it  was  good  for 
me.  It  made  me  see  that  duty  is  not  merely  a 
negative  thing.  And  now  it  is  all  over — all  over, 
like  a  dream  that  is  past.     I  am  as  I  was.     I  am  free! 

"I  seem  heartless  to  say  that.  I  could  not  say  it 
to  any  one  except  you — or  Nance.  And  I  even  won- 
der if  Nance  could  quite  understand.  I  feel  that  she 
must  be  so  very  much  younger  than  myself.  But 
you  will  not  misunderstand,  Larry,  will  you?  You 
will  see  that  it  isn't  want  of  heart,  but  just  the  knowl- 
edge that  there  is  a  future.  A  future  for  tne,  who 
had  ceased  to  believe  in  one! 

"Just  before  I  began  this  letter,  I  stood  for  a  long 
time  at  an  open  window,  looking  out  over  Florence, 
lying  below  me  in  the  wonderful  sunshine  that  comes 
to  Italy  in  the  spring,  and  quite  suddenly,  Larry,  I 
thought  of  England  in  May.  England  in  May!  It 
seems  to  suggest  a  hundred  thousand  things.  Don't 
say  I  am  disloyal.  For,  of  course,  T  want  to  go  home 
to  Orristown ;  but  not  just  yet — not  just  yet.  I  feel 
— I  cannot  quite  explain  it  to  you — just  a  little 
afraid  of  going  back  to  Ireland.     Just  at  the  moment 

286 


THE     GAMBLER 

it  is  too  full  of  memories.     But  1  want  to  see  England. 
I  want  to  live  in  England. 

"  Yes,  I  shall  live  in  England — for  the  present  at 
least.  And  you  and  Aunt  Fan  must  come  and  stay 
with  me;  and  then  you  will  report  on  your  steward- 
ship. For,  of  course,  you  are  still  to  manage  Orris- 
town — as  well  and  capable  as  you  have  managed  it 
during  the  last  three  years.  I  always  think  it  was 
one  of  James's  kindest  actions  to  me  to  give  that 
management  to  you,  though  I  shall  always  regret 
that  you  and  Aunt  Fan  will  not  make  use  of  that  big, 
empty  house.  But  what  is  the  good  of  talking!  The 
Asshlins  are  all  disgustingly  proud. 

"  I  can  see  you  smile  as  you  read  this,  and  perhaps 
I  can  hear  you  say,  'How  like  Clo!'  I  hope— oh, 
Larry,  I  hope  I  can! 

"Give  them  all  my  love — Hannah,  Biirke,  the  dogs, 
and  Polly.  Dear,  pretty  Polly!  How  I  crave  some- 
times for  just  one  long,  wild  gallop!  She  must  be 
eight  years  old  by  now;  and  yet  she  looks  as  fit  as 
ever — you  said  so  in  your  letter  of  a  month  ago. 
Dear,  pretty  Polly! 

"I  can  do  very  much  as  I  like  now,  Larry,  in  every 
way.  James  has  been  more  than  generous.  I  am 
to  have  the  interest  on  sixty  thousand  pounds,  al- 
though I  may  not  touch  the  capital.  A  wise  pre- 
caution. Was  there  ever  an  Asshlin  who  could  keep 
money!  But,  as  it  is,  I  shall  be  rich.  Two  thousand 
a  year!  Why,  it  is  wealth.  And  then  again  there  is 
another  thing  in  which  James  has  been  good  to  us. 
He  has  placed  a  thousand  pounds  to  my  credit,  apart 
from  my  own  money,  which  I  am  to  give  to  Nance  on 
her  twenty -first  birthday,  or  on  her  engagement, 
should  she  marry  with  my  consent  before  she  be- 
comes of  age.     Was  it  not  a  kindly,  thoughtful  act? 

2S7 


THE    GAMBLER 

But  does  it  not  seem  incredible  to  talk  about  Nance 
— little  Nance — being  of  an  age  when  she  might  think 
of  marrying?  I  often  long  to  see  her — and  some- 
times I  feel  ridiculously  shy  and  a  little  bit  afraid.  It 
is  so  strange  that  we  have  never  in  all  these  years 
visited  England,  and  that  some  plan  of  poor  James's 
should  always  have  prevented  her  spending  her  holi- 
days with  us,  though,  so  far  as  that  goes,  Carrigmore 
was  a  more  homelike  place  than  Italy  to  spend  them  in. 

"What  is  she  really  like?  You  say  she  has  grown 
very  pretty,  but  you  never  say  more  than  that.  Men 
don't  realize  how  women  crave  for  details.  But  I 
shall  see  her  for  myself  in  a  few  weeks.  She  leaves 
school  next  month,  you  know,  and  will  join  me  at 
once.  Before  James's  death  she  had  been  asked  on 
a  visit  to  America  by  the  mother  of  a  school  friend  of 
hers — a  girl  named  Estcoit,  who  is  leaving  school  on 
the  same  day  as  Nance.  But  now  that  is  all  changed. 
She  writes  begging  me  to  let  her  come  to  me  directly ; 
and  her  letter  has  made  me  feel  that,  beneath  all  the 
silly  feelings  of  shyness  and  uncertainty,  I  too  want 
her. 

"  So  now  I  have  said  all.  Now  you  see  me  as  I  am, 
Larry,  more  the  old  Clodagh  than  I  have  been  for 
years.  The  Clodagh  who  remembers  and  loves  you 
always  as  her  dear  cousin — her  dear,  dear  brother." 

The  letter  ended  unconventionally,  without  a  signa- 
ture; but  the  writing  of  the  last  lines  was  strong  and 
bold,  with  a  vigorous  upward  curve. 

With  a  touch  of  impetuosity,  Clodagh  picked  uj) 
an  envelope  and  addressed  it  to  Laurence  Asshlin,  at 
Orristown;  then,  rising  from  the  bureau,  she  rang  a 
bell. 

An  Italian  man-servant  responded  to  the  summons, 

288 


THE    GAMBLER 

the  same  man-servant  who  had  waited  at  breakfast, 
on  the  morning  that  Milbanke  had  received  Barnard's 
summons  to  Venice.  Entering  the  room  with  sym- 
pathetic deference,  he  paused  just  inside  the  door. 

"Signora!"  he  murmured. 

Clodagh  turned  to  him,  the  black-edged  envelope 
in  her  hand. 

"Tell  Simonetta  to  bring  me  my  hat  and  cloak," 
she  said.  "I'm  going  down  into  Florence — to  post  a 
letter."  And  without  waiting  to  see  what  expression 
her  declaration  brought  to  the  man's  face,  she  crossed 
the  room  and  stood  once  more  in  the  flood  of  clear, 
cool  sunlight  that  poured  through  the  open  window, 
19 


XXX 

EXACTLY  one  week  later  Clodagh  arrived  in 
Paris  on  her  way  to  England.  Simonetta  Otto- 
lenghi,  an  Italian  woman  who  had  been  in  her  ser- 
vice as  maid  for  nearly  four  years,  was  her  only  com- 
panion ;  there  was  no  friend  to  meet  or  welcome  her  in 
the  unfamiliar  city,  and  even  the  dog  Mick,  the  com- 
panion of  so  many  solitary  hours,  had  been  left  be- 
hind in  Florence  until  she  could  conveniently  send 
for  him;  yet,  incongruous  as  it  may  sound,  her  feel- 
ings were  happy — her  mind  was  free  from  loneliness 
as  her  train  steamed  into  the  crowded  railway  station, 
and  she  found  herself  free  to  drive  to  her  hotel.  After 
all,  life  undeniably  stretched  before  her,  and  there 
was  no  prohibition  against  letting  her  eyes  dwell  upon 
the  vistas  it  opened  up. 

Knowledge  of  duty  done — be  the  doing  ever  so 
tardy — is  the  best  stimulus  for  the  wayfarer  in  the 
world's  byways;  and  Clodagh,  as  she  stepped  from 
her  train  on  that  February  afternoon,  was  conscious 
of  some  such  reassuring  certainty. 

In  the  last  two  years  life  for  her  had  been  a  thing 
of  physical  inaction  accompanied  by  a  subtle  proc- 
ess of  mental  development.  The  night  of  tempestu- 
ous excitement — when,  in  a  whirl  of  pain,  chagrin, 
and  passionate  self-contempt,  she  had  repudiated 
Venice  and  her  newly  made  friends — had  been  the 
birth  of  a  fresh  phase   in  her   existence.      With  all 

290 


THE    GAMBLER 

the  ardor,  all  the  enthusiasm  whereof  her  vivid 
nature  was  capable,  she  had  veered  from  her  former 
point  of  view  to  another  almost  as  extreme.  The 
return  to  Florence,  the  taking  up  of  existence  in  the 
secluded  villa,  had  been  like  the  incidents  of  a  dream; 
then,  in  the  days  that  had  succeeded — in  the  early 
mornings  or  the  late  evenings — as  she  sat  upon  the 
marble  rim  of  the  drowsy  fountain  in  the  garden, 
gazed  down  from  Fiesole  upon  the  sleeping  Roman 
amphitheatre,  or  knelt  in  a  dim  recess  of  the  old 
church  of  San  Domenico,  rendered  mystical  by  the 
smell  of  incense  and  the  flicker  of  wax  tapers,  the 
dream  had  shaped  itself.  It  had  become  a  tapestry 
into  the  pictures  of  which  many  figures  were  woven, 
but  where  only  two  took  place  and  prominence — her 
own  and  one  other. 

For  in  those  silent  hours  the  thought  of  Gore — the 
remembrance  of  Gore  —  had  come  back  to  her  as 
tangible  things.  In  that  solitude  peopled  by  im- 
agination she  had  forgotten  the  hurt  vanity,  the  bit- 
ter disappointment  that  had  clothed  her  last  inter- 
view with  him,  and  remembered  only  that,  seeing  fit 
to  reprove  her,  he  had  dared  to  do  so — that,  seeing 
the  brink  upon  which  she  had  stood,  he  had  put  out 
his  hand  to  draw  her  back. 

And,  standing  in  this  new  light,  Gore  became  an 
ideal,  a  being  apart,  endowed  with  endless  power  to 
inspire  high  deeds.  An  idealist  born,  Clodagh  was 
created  to  make-believe.  The  make-believes  were 
probably  exaggerated,  the  swaying  of  an  impulsive 
mind  from  one  emotional  pole  to  the  other;  but  in 
this  case,  at  least,  benefit  accrued.  She  developed  a 
sudden  gentle  tolerance  of  Milbanke — an  altogether 
unprecedented  care  for  his  comfort  and  well-being. 

The  working  of  this  profoundly  subtle  emotion  was 

291 


THE    GAMBLER 

far  too  deep  to  be  even  guessed  at  by  herself.  And 
had  any  student  of  human  nature  told  her  that  the 
new  tenderness  for  the  timid,  unassuming  husband, 
who  made  so  few  demands  upon  her  consideration, 
arose  from  the  fact  that  another  man  had  crossed 
her  life — rousing  at  once  her  imagination,  her  an- 
tagonism, and  her  admiration;  showing  her  new 
depths  in  the  world  around  her,  new  possibiHties 
within  herself — she  would  have  been  both  incredu- 
lous and  indignant. 

But  no  student  of  human  nature  visited  the  villa. 
And  she  lived  on  imdisturbed  in  her  atmosphere  of 
dreams.  Whether  the  vague,  subconscious  thought 
that  Gore,  away  in  his  own  world,  might  hear  of  her 
graver  attitude  towards  Hfe  and  might  secretly  ap- 
prove, ever  lent  zest  to  her  self-imposed  duties  it 
would  have  been  impossible  to  say;  but  certain  it 
is  that  if  the  thought  came  it  came  unbidden  and 
stayed  unrecognized. 

And  now  Milbanke  was  dead.  And  life — not  the 
mythical  life  of  memories,  of  dreams,  even  of  ideals, 
but  the  life  of  hope  and  warm  human  possibilities — 
was  hers,  as  it  had  been  long  ago,  before  her  hus- 
band's name  had  ever  met  her  ears. 

Her  mind  was  at  peace  as  she  drove  through  the 
narrow  streets  of  Paris,  with  their  cheerful  character- 
istic chorus  of  shouting  news-venders,  cracking  whips, 
and  laughing,  chattering  people. 

The  hotel  she  had  chosen  was  a  small  one,  close  to 
the  Place  Vendome;  and  when  her  fiacre  stopped 
and  she  entered  the  vestibule  her  sense  of  pleasure 
and  contentment  increased.  The  quiet  air  of  the 
place  contrasted  agreeably  with  her  previous  ex- 
perience of  hotel  life. 

Still  conscious  of  this  impression  of  security,  she 

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THE    GAMBLER 

turned  away  from  the  bureau  where  she  had  registered 
her  name  and  crossed  the  vestibule  to  the  lift.  Tak- 
ing her  place  on  the  velvet-covered  seat,  she  watched 
the  attendant  close  the  iron  doors  and  turn  to  set  the 
lift  in  motion.  But  at  the  moment  that  he  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  button  she  saw  the  big,  swinging 
doors  of  the  hotel  open  to  admit  a  lady. 

The  new-comer,  seeing  that  the  lift  was  about  to 
ascend,  hurried  towards  it;  and  Clodagh,  idly  inter- 
ested by  the  sound  of  rustling  silk,  leaned  forward  in 
her  seat.  But  the  light  in  the  vestibule  was  dim,  and 
she  caught  nothing  beyond  the  outline  of  a  large  hat 
and  the  suggestion  of  a  pale-green  dress.  Then,  sud- 
denly, the  stranger  spoke,  and  her  heart  gave  a 
tremendous  leap. 

"Wait!"  she  called,  in  French.  "Wait!  I  am  com- 
ing!" 

It  needed  but  the  five  words,  spoken  in  a  clear, 
dictatorial  voice,  to  assure  Clodagh  that  the  speaker 
was  known  to  her;  and  as  the  attendant  paused  in 
his  task,  and,  turning  promptly,  opened  the  grilled 
door,  her  mind  was  prepared  for  the  vision  of  Lady 
Frances  Hope. 

But  if  she  was  prepared  for  the  encounter,  the  new- 
comer was  taken  completely  by  surprise.  Entering 
the  lift,  she  glanced  casually  at  its  other  occupant; 
then  her  whole  face  changed. 

"It  is—  It  can't  be!  It  is  Mrs.  Milbanke!" 
Her  glance  passed  rapidly  over  Clodagh's  deep  mourn- 
ing and  her  expression  altered  in  accordance.  "My 
dear  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  she  said,  softly,  "how  thought- 
less of  me  not  to  realize  at  once!  I  heard  through 
Mr.   Barnard.     How  are  you?     How  arc  you?" 

She  pressed  the  hand  Ciodagh  had  offered  her,  and 
looked  sympathetically  into  her  face.     Then,  as  the 

293 


THE    GAMBLER 

lift,  gliding  upward,  stopped  at  the  first  floor  and 
Clodagh  rose,  her  expression  changed  again. 

"Are  you  located  on  this  floor  ?  How  delightful! 
We  are  neighbors.  I  am  number  five.  What  are 
you?" 

"Seven,"  Clodagh  said,  gently,  speaking  for  the 
first  time.  There  was  something  very  strange  to  her 
in  this  meeting — something  not  altogether  unpleas- 
ant. In  the  two  years  since  they  had  met — and  in 
the  light  of  her  last  evening  in  Venice — the  image  of 
Lady  Frances  Hope  had  become  slightly  distorted. 
And  there  was  a  sense  of  surprise,  of  reassurance,  in 
finding  her  so  kindly,  so  gracious,  so  unalarming. 

"Seven!"  Lady  Frances  repeated.  "Delightful! 
You  must  dine  with  me  to-night.  I  have  a  private 
room  and  am  quite  alone.  It  will  be  an  act  of 
charity.  I  am  on  my  way  south.  By  -  the  -  way, 
where  are  you  bound  for?" 

Clodagh  smiled. 

"  I  am  going  home." 

"Home?" 

"To  England." 

"England!  My  dear  child,  not  England  in  Feb- 
ruary? Why,  the  atmosphere  is  a  combination  of 
fog  and  sleet;  and  the  people — "  She  made  a  gesture 
of  horror.  "Why,  everybody  who  hasn't  influenza 
is  either  expecting  it  or  shaking  it  off." 

Clodagh  laughed  a  little. 

"  I  have  never  had  influenza.  It  will  be  an  ex- 
perience. But  I  must  look  after  my  maid.  Trav- 
elling is  new  to  her." 

She  glanced  down  the  corridor  to  where  Simonetta 
was  awaiting  her  beside  a  mountain  of  luggage. 

Lady  Frances  made  haste  to  echo  her  laugh. 

"Well,  well!"   she  said.     "It's  good   to  have  the 

294 


THE    GAMBLER 

enthusiasm  of  youth.  But  you  will  dine  with  me? 
Dinner  in  an  hour." 

Clodagh  hesitated.  Yesterday  she  would  have 
ardently  avoided  a  meeting  with  Lady  Frances  Hope. 
Now  that  it  had  been  thrust  upon  her  it  seemed  to 
possess  no  danger.  What  was  it  Gore  had  said  on 
that  memorable  night  ?  "I  am  not  depreciating  Lady 
Frances  Hope's  social  standing — "  Very  swiftly  she 
recalled  the  words  and  construed  them  in  the  light 
of  her  present  feelings.  After  all,  she  was  not  the 
child  she  had  been  two  years  ago.  And  it  was  not 
Lady  Frances,  but  the  set  that  surrounded  her,  to 
which  Gore  took  exception. 

Her  companion,  seeirtg  the  hesitation  in  her  eyes, 
gave  a  quick,  bright  smile. 

"Do  come!     I  will  give  you  news  of — every  one." 

Clodagh  colored  slightly. 

"Very  well,"  she  said.  "In  an  hour.  Thank  you 
very  much." 

And  with  an  agreeable,  unfamiliar  sense  of  inter- 
est and  excitement,  she  turned  and  passed  down  the 
corridor  to  where  Simonetta  stood. 

Before  opening  her  own  door,  Lady  Frances  Hope 
stood  for  a  few  seconds  watching  the  retreating  figure ; 
then,  apparently  without  reason,  she  frowned,  drew 
her  lips  together,  and,  pushing  her  door  hastily  open, 
passed  out  of  sight. 

Still  imbued  with  the  sense  of  contentment,  Clo- 
dagh changed  her  heavy  black  travelling  -  dress  for 
one  of  lighter  texture,  allowed  Simonetta  to  rearrange 
her  hair,  and,  at  the  appointed  hour,  presented  her- 
self at  Lady  Frances  Hope's  door. 

Lady  Frances  had  also  discarded  her  elaborate 
costume  for  something  lighter  and  more  comfortable, 

295 


THE    GAMBLER 

and  was  already  ensconced  on  a  low  divan,  reading  a 
French  novel,  when  her  guest  was  announced.  Im- 
mediately Clodagh's  name  reached  her  she  threw  the 
book  aside,  and  rose  with  great  cordiality. 

"How  sweet  you  look!"  she  exclaimed.  "You 
are  the  first  dark  woman  I've  ever  liked  in  black. 
But  then,  of  course,  you  are  not  exactly  dark.  Sit 
down.  Dinner  will  be  served  in  a  moment.  How  did 
you  know  of  this  place?  Have  you  stayed  here  be- 
fore?" 

Clodagh  had  come  forward  and  seated  herself  be- 
side her  hostess.  Now,  as  she  looked  about  her,  she 
noticed  with  a  feeling  of  restfulness  that  the  room  was 
pretty  and  homelike,  and  that  there  were  flowers  on 
the  tables  and  soft, yellow  shades  on  the  electric  lamps. 

"No;  I  have  never  been  here  before.  Mr.  Barnard 
gave  the  address  to  my — my  husband  when  we  were 
in  Venice,  and  I  came  across  it  among  his  papers 
after — after — "     She  hesitated. 

Lady  Frances  leaned  forward  sympathetically. 

"Poor  child!"  she  murmured.  "Don't  talk  of  it! 
You  have  had  a  most  trying  time.  Barny  told  me 
all  about  it  only  a  week  ago.  But  this  place  is  really 
quite  good,"  she  added,  in  a  cheerful  voice;  "better 
now  than  ever.  They  have  just  secured  the  chef 
from  the  Abbati  Restaurant  in  Venice.  But,  of 
course,  you  knew  Abbati's." 

Her  quick  glance  passed  over  Clodagh's  face.  Then 
she  rose  and  moved  to  the  table,  as  two  waiters  en- 
tered, and  dinner  was  announced. 

Clodagh  colored,  and  crossed  the  room  in  her  host- 
ess's wake. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  taking  her  seat  at  the  table  — 
"yes;  I  once  dined  there.  It  was  a  wonderfully  fas- 
cinating place.     Has  it  been  a  failure?" 

296 


THE    GAMBLER 

Lady  Frances  shruj^'gcd  her  shoulders. 

"Vanished.  But  tell  mc  about  yourself!"  She 
turned  to  her  guest  with  a  change  of  manner.  "You 
are  not  seriously  contemplating  England  at  this  time 
of  year?" 

Clodagh  smiled  calmly. 

"Quite  seriously." 

"But,  my  dear  child,  why?  if  one  may  be  inquisi- 
tive." 

"Because  I  want  to  know  England — to  know  the 
English." 

Lady  Frances's  eyes  narrowed  very  slightly;  then 
she  gave  one  of  her  bright  laughs. 

"Then  come  back  with  me  to  the  Riviera!  Any 
English  people  worth  studying  will  be  found  there. 
Change  your  plans!     Come  back  with  me!" 

Clodagh  looked  up.  She  was  uncertain  whether 
the  suggestion  had  been  made  in  jest  or  earnest,  and 
the  smiling,  searching  glance  of  her  hostess  did  not 
enlighten  her.  With  a  slight  feeling  of  embarrass- 
ment she  broke  off  abruptly  into  another  channel  of 
talk. 

"And  how  is  Mr.  Barnard?"  she  asked. 

"Barny?     Oh,  optimistic  as  ever!" 

"Then  there  is  one  amusing  person  left  in  Eng- 
land!" 

Lady  Frances  laughed. 

"Only  temporarily.  He  takes  his  holiday  next 
month.  Last  March  he  joined  the  Luards  and  me 
in  Naples,  and  we  all  went  on  to  Sicily.  It  was 
tremendous  fun." 

She  laughed  again  over  some  recollection,  and  en- 
tered upon  a  history  of  her  Sicilian  adventures  that 
occupied  the  rest  of  dinner. 

At  the  termination  of  the  meal,  however,  when  the 

297 


THE    GAMBLER 

waiters  had  brought  in  coffee  and  silently  retired,  she 
dropped  her  reminiscent  tone,  and,  rising  from  table, 
moved  back  to  the  divan,  which  was  drawn  pleasant- 
ly near  to  a  bright  wood  fire. 

"Come  here  and  let's  be  comfortable,"  she  said. 
"  I  always  have  a  cigarette  after  dinner.  I  forget 
whether  you  smoke." 

Clodagh  smiled  as  she  came  slowly  forward. 

"Not  since  my  cousin  and  I  used  to  smoke  in  the 
top  branches  of  an  apple-tree  in  Ireland.  I  should 
be  afraid  to  try  the  experiment  again ;  I  might  lose 
an  illusion.  No  other  cigarettes  could  taste  like  those 
stolen  ones!" 

She  gave  a  little  sigh,  then  a  little  laugh,  and 
seated  herself. 

Lady  Frances  looked  up  from  the  cigarette  she  was 
drawing  from  her  case. 

"Illusions!"  she  said.  "Why,  life  is  all  illusions 
at  your  age!"  She  paused,  then  after  a  moment's 
silence  went  on  again,  but  in  a  slower,  more  con- 
sidered voice:  "You  thought  I  was  jesting  at  dinner, 
when  I  asked  you  to  come  south  with  me.  But  I 
wasn't.  I  meant  it."  She  struck  a  match  and  light- 
ed her  cigarette.  "You  don't  know  how  you  would 
enjoy  Nice.  You  lost  yourself  in  the  delights  of 
roulette  at  Venice.  Think  what  Monte  Carlo  would 
be!" 

With  a  sudden  tumultuous  confusion,  Clodagh 
flushed. 

"I — I  have  ceased  to  care  about  things  like  that," 
she  said,  in  a  hurried  voice. 

Lady  Frances's  expression  changed  to  one  of  deep 
interest  sharpened  by  surprise. 

"Ceased  to  care?"  she  repeated,  softly.  "Since 
when  ?     And  why  ?" 

298 


"'come     HEKIC     ANM)     let's     be     COMKOR  TAHI.IC 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Since" — Clodagh  hesitated — "oh,  sinee  that  time 
in  Venice." 

Her  hostess  flicked  the  ash  from  her  cigarette. 

"Some  new  influence?" 

Clodagh  was  taken  unawares. 

"I — I  have  got  to  know  myself  better  since  that 
time  in  Venice,"  she  said,  below  her  breath.  "Some 
one — something — has  made  me  see  that  it  was  not  my 
true  self  that  showed  then.  I  was  foolish  in  those 
days.     I  was  carried  away." 

A  very  faint  smile  flitted  across  Lady  Frances's 
lips. 

"That  idea  belongs  to  the  some  one  else  ?"  she  said, 
in  a  quiet,  cordial  tone  that  invited  confidence. 

Moved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  Clodagh  leaned  for- 
ward in  her  seat  and  clasped  her  hands.  As  on  the 
day  in  Florence — the  day  when  she  had  written  her 
letter  to  Laurence  Asshlin — her  soul  thirsted  for  con- 
fession. After  two  long  years  of  silent  thought  the 
temptation  to  open  her  heart  in  speech  was  over- 
mastering. The  room  was  comfortable,  dimly  lighted, 
almost  homelike;  the  hour  was  propitious;  her  host- 
ess's voice  was  extraordinarily  kind.  She  stole  one 
half-shy,  half-eager  glance  at  the  averted  face. 

"Lady  Frances,"  she  said,  suddenly,  "I  was  very 
childish,  very  foolish  that  time  in  Venice.  I  knew 
it  even  before  I — before  I  left." 

With  extreme  tact  Lady  Frances  refrained  from 
looking  at  her.  Smoking  quietly,  she  made  her  next 
remark  in  a  low,  reassuring  voice. 

"Then  that  was  why  you  left  so  suddenly?" 

"That  was  why." 

"Walter  Gore  must  have  been  very  eloquent!" 

Lady  Frances  spoke  in  the  same  even  tone;  but, 
as  she  felt  the  thrill  of  surprise  with  which  Clodagh 

299 


THE    GAMBLER 

received  her  words,  she  turned  quickly  and  decisively 
and  met  her  startled  eyes. 

"I  always  knew  that  Walter  Gore  went  back  with 
you  to  your  hotel  on  that  last  night,"  she  said.  "I 
always  knew  that  he  read  you  a  very  moral  lecture." 

Clodagh  drew  a  quick  breath. 

"But  how  did  you  know?" 

Lady  Frances  studied  her  face  for  a  moment;  then 
she  gave  a  direct  answer  to  the  question  put  to  her. 

"Walter  himself  told  me,"  she  said. 

After  she  had  spoken  there  was  a  silence  in  the 
room.  On  her  part  it  was  the  silence  of  the  experi- 
menter who  has  taken  a  step  in  a  new  direction  and 
is  waiting  for  results;  on  Clodagh's  it  was  the  silence 
of  incredulity,  of  doubt,  of  dread.  That  Gore  should 
have  spoken  of  that  last  night  in  Venice  to  any  third 
person  was  a  circumstance  that,  at  very  least,  needed 
explanation.  She  sat  breathlessly  waiting  that  ex- 
planation. 

During  the  moment  of  fruitful  silence  Lady 
Frances  Hope  remained  very  still,  fingering  her 
cigarette,  drawing  in  fitful  puffs  of  smoke,  avoiding 
with  elaborate  carelessness  any  observation  of  her 
companion's  manner. 

Then,  as  if  some  psychological  crisis  for  which  she 
was  waiting  had  been  achieved,  she  altered  her  posi- 
tion and  her  expression,  and,  turning,  laid  her  hand 
upon  Clodagh's. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  she  said,  "I  am  glad  all 
this  has  happened;  I  am  glad  we  have  met.  You 
are  at  a  moment  in  your  life  when  you  need  a  friend 
— a  friend  who  understands—" 

Her  fingers  tightened  upon  Clodagh's  in  a  warm, 
sympathetic  pressure. 

"  You  are  young ;  you  are  free ;  you  have  the  whole 

300 


THE    GAMBLER 

world  at  your  feet.  Don't  spoil  your  life  by  taking 
it  too  seriously. 

"When  I  was  your  age,  or  only  a  little  older  than 
you,  I  was  left  a  widow — as  you  have  been  left;  but 
I  was  unlike  you  in  one  particular — I  had  a  very  wise 
and  far-seeing  mother  to  help  me  with  her  advice. 
Do  you  know  what  her  advice  was  ?" 

Clodagh  sat  silent. 

"It  was  comprised  in  one  sentence.  'Avoid  scan- 
dal, but  fly  from  sentiment!'  Do  you  see  all  the 
wisdom  in  that  advice  to  a  woman  who  has  just  be- 
come her  own  mistress?" 

Still  Clodagh  was  silent,  filled  by  a  sense  of  uncer- 
tainty, of  loneliness,  of  fear.  She  waited  for  Lady 
Frances's  explanation  with  the  numb  sense  of  help- 
lessness that  is  bom  of  ignorance. 

"Of  course  I  may  be  wrong,"  the  strong,  reliant 
voice  went  on;  "but  I  feel  you  are  in  need  of  just 
such  counsel.  You  are  emotional;  you  are  an  ideal- 
ist; you  are  coming  out  into  life  expecting  it  to  be  a 
fairy-tale — and  it  is  not  a  fairy-tale.  It  is  a  realistic 
story — sometimes  a  long  one,  sometimes  a  short  one, 
but  always  realistic.  Take  my  advice.  Make  the 
best  of  it  as  it  is.  Don't  break  your  heart  because 
there  are  no  dragons  or  castles  or  princes." 

She  paused  at  last;  and  at  last  Clodagh  spoke. 

"You  are  very  kind — very  good.  But  I  don't  see 
what  it  all  has  to  do  with  me." 

With  a  frank,  almost  an  affectionate  gesture.  Lady 
Frances  took  both  her  hands,  and,  looking  into  her 
face,  spoke  the  words  for  which  she  had  so  carefully 
prepared  the  way. 

"If  what  I  am  going  to  say  hurts  you,  you  must 
forgive  me.  I  feel  such  centuries  older  than  you  that 
I  can  risk  a  great  deal      Don't  spoil  your  life,  don't 

.^oi 


THE    GAMBLER 

throw  away  your  pleasure,  because  of  one  moral 
lecture.  It  isn't  worth  while.  I  know  what  I  am 
saying.  People  like  Walter  Gore  are  reprehensible. 
They  take  themselves  so  seriously  that  sometimes 
other  people  make  the  mistake  of  taking  them  serious- 
ly too;  and  then  things  go  wrong." 

Clodagh's  face  became  a  shade  paler. 

"I — I  am  stupid,"  she  said,  faintly.  "I  don't 
seem  to  understand." 

"My  dear!     It  is  so  hard  to  say  it  bluntly." 

"Please  say  it  bluntly." 

For  an  instant  the  older  woman  hesitated  before 
the  coldness  of  Clodagh's  tone;  but  the  next  she  took 
the  opening  offered  her. 

"You  are  deliberately  turning  away  from  the  best 
in  life  because  some  one,  in  a  moment  of  enthusiasm, 
preached  you  a  sermon.  You  make  the  mistake  of 
thinking  that  Walter  Gore  did  something  unusual 
when  he  warned  you  against  cards  and  roulette — 
against  Lord  Deerehurst  and  Val  Serracauld  and  me 
— whereas,  Walter  was  bom  to  preach." 

Clodagh's  lips  parted.  Lady  Frances  had  justified 
herself.  Gore  had  spoken  of  that  last  interview. 
But  why  ?     And  how  ? 

"Lady  Frances,"  she  said,  very  quietly,  "why  did 
Sir  Walter  Gore  tell  you  all  these  things?" 

Lady  Frances  freed  the  hands  she  had  continued 
to  hold. 

"Oh,  we  are  old  friends.  He  tells  me  many  things. 
I  fought  more  than  one  battle  for  you  while  you  were 
in  Venice — and  afterwards." 

"  For  me  ?     After  I  left  Venice  ?" 

"Oh,  many  battles.  Walter  is  so  extreme  in  his 
judgments  of  men  and  things.  I  lose  patience  with 
him  sometimes." 

302 


THE    GAMBLER 

"And  what  was  Sir  Walter  Gore's  judgment  of  me 
—after  I  left  Venice?" 

Lady  Frances  gave  a  little  deprecating  laugh. 

"Would  that  be  quite  fair?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so,  if  I  wish  to  know." 

The  older  woman  took  a  fresh  cigarette  from  the 
case  beside  her. 

"And  you  won't  be  offended?" 

"I  won't  be  offended."  Clodagh's  voice  sounded 
a  little  dry. 

"Well,  then — oh,  really,  it's  very  stupid!  Per- 
haps I'd  better  not." 

Clodagh  rose  quietly  from  the  divan  and  walked  to 
the  mantel-piece. 

"Please  tell  me,"  she  said. 

At  her  tone  her  hostess  ceased  to  dally.  She 
struck  a  match  and  raised  the  cigarette  to  her  lips. 

"Well,"  she  said,  with  another  little  apologetic 
laugh.  "I  think  Walter  has  always  imagined  you 
a  very  pretty,  very  fascinating — little  fool!" 

There  was  another  silence — very  short  but  very 
tense.  Lady  Frances  laid  down  her  cigarette  un- 
lightcd  and  blew  out  the  match. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,  you  don't  mind?" 

Clodagh  laughed — suddenly  and  almost  loudly. 

"Mind!     Mind!     Why  should  I  mind?" 

Had  her  denial  been  a  shade  less  intense  its  steadi- 
ness might  have  deceived  her  companion ;  as  it  was, 
the  faintest  flickering  smile  touched  her  lips,  as  she 
also  rose  and  came  slowly  forward. 

"My  dear  child!"  she  murmured,  reproachfully. 
"My  dear  child,  you  have  misunderstood.  I  never 
implied  that  Walter  interested  you  personally;  I 
merely  used  him  as  an  illustration — as  a  means  of 
conveying  the  folly  of  taking  serious  people  seriously. 

303 


THE    GAMBLER 

But  you  are  tired.  I  have  been  cruelly  unreason- 
able. I  shall  send  you  straight  to  bed.  You  are 
fagged  after  that  long  journey." 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  laid  it  on  Clodagh's  arm; 
but  Clodagh  was  not  in  a  mood  to  be  caressed. 

''It's  all  right,"  she  said,  abruptly.  "I  suppose 
we  both  misunderstood.  I  am  a  little  tired.  I  think 
I  will  say  good-night." 

"Good-night,  dear  child!"  Lady  Frances  pressed 
her  hand,  and  walked  with  her  slowly  across  the 
room.  As  she  passed  out  into  the  corridor  she  waved 
a  gay  farewell.  "Sleep  well!"  she  called.  "But 
dream  of  an  English  February — and  wake  with  a 
changed  mind!" 

As  she  said  the  last  words  Clodagh  paused  for  a 
moment,  then  went  on  again  without  speaking,  and 
entered  her  own  room. 

Tired  though  she  was,  Clodagh  scarcely  slept  that 
night,  and  in  the  early  hours  of  the  morning  she  saw 
the  bright  dawn  break  over  Paris.  At  eight  o'clock 
she  rang  for  Simonetta,  and  asked  for  ink,  pen,  and 
note-paper.  Sitting  up  in  bed,  she  wrote  the  follow- 
ing note: 

"Dear  Lady  Frances, — As  we  are  both  women,  I  can 
hope  that  you  won't  call  me  variable.  If  you  still  want  me 
as  a  companion,  I  think  I  will,  after  all,  go  with  you  to  Nice. 
Looking  into  the  matter  more  closely,  I  find  I  really  have  no 
affinity  for  sleet  or  influenza. 

"Yours,  Clodagh  Milbanke." 

Having  despatched  the  note  to  Lady  Frances 
Hope,  she  wrote  two  long,  feverishly  hasty  letters — 
one  to  Laurence  Asshlin,  at  Orristown,  the  other  to 
Nance,  at  her  school  near  London. 

304 


XXXI 

IT  was  in  the  middle  of  February  that  Clodagh 
arrived  in  Paris  on  her  journey  home;  and  it  was 
the  end  of  April  before  that  ardently  planned  return 
to  England  at  last  took  place. 

On  a  fresh,  showery  April  afternoon,  when  all  Lon- 
don looked  renewed  and  beautiful  by  soft  air  and  fit- 
ful, brilliant  sunshine,  she  alighted  from  the  train  at 
Charing  Cross. 

Her  arrival  in  the  lofty,  unfamiliar  station  was  very 
different  from  her  arrival  at  the  bustling,  exciting 
Parisian  terminus  two  months  earlier.  Then  she  had 
descended  from  her  train  with  the  rapidity  of  one  who 
sees  in  the  least  promising  object  the  hope — if  not  the 
certainty — of  interest;  now  she  left  her  carriage  with 
the  quiet  indifference  to  outward  circumstance  that 
acquaintance  with  society  teaches.  Unconsciously 
she  had  learned  to  move  as  women  of  the  world  move 
— the  women  who  know  themselves  possessed  of  a 
certain  value,  and  are  faintly  flattered,  faintly  amused, 
perhaps  faintly  wearied  by  the  knowledge. 

As  she  walked  down  the  platform  a  momentary 
glimmering  of  disappointment  crossed  her  face;  and 
she  turned  to  Simonctta,  who  had  come  hurr\'ing 
towards  her. 

"I  thought  Lady  Frances  would  have  met  us,"  she 
said.     "  But  I  suppose  she  is  waiting  at  the  flat." 

Simonetta  looked  up  solicitously  at  her  mistress, 
ao  305 


THE    GAMBLER 

"And  the  signora?"  she  hazarded.  "She  is  not 
tired?" 

Clodagh  smiled  a  little  absently. 

"Oh  no,  Simonetta!  You  must  not  trouble  about 
me.  I  have  come  home,  you  know."  She  gave  a 
little  laugh.  "But  we  must  not  delay,"  she  added. 
"Have  you  the  keys  of  all  the  boxes?" 

"Yes,   signora." 

"Then  you  can  see  to  the  examining  of  the  lug- 
gage. When  it  is  done  this  porter  will  put  you  in  a 
cab.     I  have  given  him  the  address." 

"Yes,  signora." 

"Then  I  shall  see  you  at  the  flat?" 

"Yes,  signora." 

Clodagh  smiled  again,  and,  turning  away  from 
Simonetta,  wended  her  way  through  the  crowd  of 
passengers  surrounded  by  eager  relatives  and  friends. 

Reaching  the  court-yard  of  the  station,  she  unos- 
tentatiously hailed  a  hansom,  and,  having  given  her 
new  address  to  the  cabman,  took  her  seat.  A  mo- 
ment later  the  cab  swung  out  into  London ;  became 
one  with  the  concourse  of  traffic  that,  in  the  season, 
seems  to  overflow  the  streets.  For  the  instant  Clo- 
dagh felt  herself  merged  in  the  teeming  life  which  the 
open  doors  of  the  vehicle  permitted  to  approach  so 
nearly;  for  the  instant  she  stifled  the  sense  of  isola- 
tion that  had  been  slowly  gathering  force,  and  with 
a  fierce  effort  thrust  it  from  her.  And,  leaning  for- 
ward in  her  seat,  she  fixed  her  attention  upon  the 
passing  scene. 

Across  Trafalgar  Square,  up  Waterloo  Place,  and 
into  the  traffic  of  Piccadilly,  she  was  borne  with  ex- 
hilarating speed,  the  cabman  avoiding  with  extreme 
dexterity  the  throng  of  carriages,  motor-cars,  and 
omnibuses  that  seemed  momentarily  to  increase.     To 

306 


THE    GAMBLER 

Clodagh,  sitting  rigidly  attentive,  the  scene  appeared 
like  an  impressive  pageant — a  pageant  of  magnificent 
wealth  and  abundant  prosperity.  A  splendid,  char- 
acteristic picture,  in  which  the  budding  English  trees, 
the  imposing  English  clubs,  the  gorgeous  English 
equipages,  and  the  beautiful  English  women  made  up 
the  background  and  the  central  figures.  It  was  the 
great  procession  of  a  life  she  had  seen  only  in  im- 
agination ;  and  as  her  curious  eyes  drank  in  its  details 
she  found  herself  almost  mechanically  repeating  in 
her  mind  the  formula  to  which  for  the  past  two 
months  she  had  clung  with  passionate  persistence. 

"I  will  live!     I  will  enjoy!" 

For  the  two  months  this  had  been  her  philosophy. 
Unconsciously,  it  had  been  her  philosophy  since  the 
night  in  Paris  when,  in  one  hour,  her  castle  of  im- 
agination had  fallen  about  her  feet,  and  she  had 
stood,  as  it  were,  houseless.  In  that  brief  space  of 
time  she  had  realized  that  she  had  been  inhabiting  a 
fool's  paradise.  A  fool's  paradise!  The  name  had 
seemed  curiously  apt;  and  through  the  long,  dark 
hours  of  that  hateful  night  her  cheeks  had  burned  as 
she  recalled  how  she  had  peopled  her  enchanted 
realm,  while  all  the  time  its  unconscious  creator  had 
forgotten  its  creation — or  remembered  it  only  as  one 
self-righteous  act  among  many.  Lady  Frances  Hope 
was  right!  Dcerehurst  had  been  right!  Barnard 
had  been  right!  Ideals  were  a  mistake — things  made 
to  be  shattered,  as  hopes  were  made  to  be  broken! 
To  live — to  live  fully,  heedlessly,  extravagantly  was 
the  only  wisdom.  Gore  had  spoken  truly!  She  had 
been  a  fool.  She  had  been  wrong  in  supposing  that 
she  had  a  debt  to  work  off;  on  the  contrary,  life  was 
her  debtor.     It  was  she  who  had  a  score  against  life! 

In  this  fever  of  mind  she  had  written  the  letters 

307 


THE    GAMBLER 

that  sent  Nance  on  her  interrupted  journey  to  Ameri- 
ca; cancelled  her  invitation  to  her  aunt  and  cousin  to 
stay  with  her  in  England ;  and  set  her  own  feet  on  the 
road  to  the  south.  And  in  the  weeks  that  followed 
the  same  fever  had  burned  in  her  blood.  During  the 
preparations  for  the  Riviera  and  during  the  journey 
to  Nice  she  had  been  possessed  by  a  frenzy  of  energy. 
She  had  craved  for  incessant  action  and  excitement 
with  a  pertinacity  that  had  seemed  insatiable. 

And  in  the  crowded  Casino  at  Monte  Carlo  she  had 
at  last  attained  her  object — she  had  at  last  succeeded 
in  losing  herself;  there,  day  after  day,  night  after 
night,  she  had  sat  in  the  stifling,  scented  atmosphere, 
listening  to  the  incessant,  significant  click  of  gold  and 
silver,  watching  the  artificial  light  glaring  down  upon 
the  hideously  artificial  faces  pressed  in  densely  packed 
circles  round  the  long  green  tables.  The  place  had 
fascinated  her  with  its  outward  immobility,  its  hid- 
den sea  of  greedy  passion.  It  was,  she  had  fiercely 
told  herself,  life! 

After  six  weeks  Lady  Frances  Hope  had  announced 
her  intention  of  returning  home.  But  Clodagh  had 
implored  her  to  postpone  her  departure  for  another 
week,  and,  when  she  had  laughingly  declared  the 
delay  impossible,  had  announced  her  own  determina- 
tion to  remain  on  alone — a  determination  which  no 
argument  of  her  companion's  had  been  powerful 
enough  to  alter. 

And  now,  after  nearly  eight  weeks  spent  between 
Monte  Carlo  and  Nice,  she  was  returning  to  take  up 
her  residence  in  a  London  flat  chosen  for  her  by  Lady 
Frances  Hope. 

Her  brain  felt  feverishly  active  as  the  cab,  having 
skirted  the  park  railings  from  Hyde  Park  Corner  to 
Knightsbridge,  turned  into  the  square  court-yard  be- 

308 


THE    GAMBLER 

longing  to  the  large,  quiet  building  where  she  was  to 
find  her  home. 

Descending  quickly  from  the  cab,  she  entered  the 
big  doorway  and  glanced  curiously  at  her  new  sur- 
roundings. The  vestibule  was  imposing,  but  a  httle 
lonely.  And  although  the  hall  porter  came  almost 
immediately  to  her  assistance,  and  listened  attentive- 
ly to  the  information  that  she  was  the  new  tenant  of 
the  second-floor  flat,  and  that  her  maid  and  her  lug- 
gage were  following  in  another  cab,  his  impersonal 
air  daunted  her.  She  was  annoyed  —  and  almost 
frightened — by  the  sudden,  poignant  desire  that  as- 
sailed her  to  see  even  one  familiar  face. 

However,  she  listened  in  her  own  turn  to  the  polite 
assurance  that  all  was  in  readiness  for  her  arrival; 
and  in  due  course  she  passed  sedately  to  the  lift  and 
was  borne  upward. 

As  she  stepped  out  upon  the  richly  carpeted  pas- 
sage that  led  to  her  own  door,  she  looked  round  in 
the  half-formed  expectation  that  Lady  Frances  Hope 
might  be  waiting  her  outside  her  own  rooms;  but  al- 
most at  once  she  dismissed  the  idea.  English  peo- 
ple were  not  demonstrative!  She  would  find  Lady 
Frances  waiting  for  her  beside  a  cosey  tea-table — or  a 
bright  fire!  With  the  haste  of  anticipation  she  crossed 
the  corridor,  and  pressed  the  bell  of  her  hall-door. 

There  was  a  slight  delay  before  the  summons  was 
answered ;  then  the  door  was  opened  by  a  well-dressed, 
unemotional-looking  maid. 

Clodagh  stepped   forward. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Milbanke — your  mistress,"  she  said, 
quickly. 

The  woman  looked  at  her  with  curiosity. 

"Will  you  kindly  walk  in,  madam?"  she  said.  "I 
hope  you  will  find  everything  in  order." 

309 


THE    GAMBLER 

A  chill — a  chill  that  painfully  suggested  home-sick- 
ness— fell  upon  Clodagh;  but  she  thrust  it  resentfully 
aside  and  entered  the  pretty,  panelled  hall  of  the  fiat. 

"Where  is  Lady  Frances  Hope?"  she  asked,  paus- 
ing just  inside  the  threshold. 

The  maid  came  forward  respectfully,  but  without 
enthusiasm. 

"Her  ladyship  has  not  been  here  to-day,  madam. 
Can  I  attend  to  you,  madam,  until  your  maid  ar- 
rives?" 

Clodagh  stood  very  still.  She  was  conscious  of  a 
horrible,  inordinate  disappointment;  but  aware  that 
the  servant's  eyes  were  still  upon  her,  she  rallied  her 
self-control. 

"Thanks!"  she  said.  "I  sha'n't  want  anything  but 
a  cup  of  tea.  Bring  me  some  tea  to  my  own  room. 
Did  Lady  Frances  Hope  leave  no  message?" 

"No  message,  madam." 

The  maid  hesitated  for  an  instant  longer,  then, 
feeling  herself  dismissed,  moved  noiselessly  away  to 
the  servants'  quarters. 

Left  alone,  Clodagh  stood  irresolute.  This  was  her 
house  —  her  home !  Her  eyes  wandered  round  the 
hall,  from  the  walls  of  which  the  pictures  of  the  former 
tenant  looked  down  as  though  they  criticised  the  in- 
truder. This  was  her  home-coming!  A  home-com- 
ing devoid  of  one  friendly  hand,  one  welcoming  word. 
Unable  to  quell  the  passion  of  loneliness  that  swelled 
within  her,  she  turned  blindly  and  opened  the  door 
that  stood  nearest  to  her. 

It  was  the  dining-room  that  she  had  chanced  upon 
— a  charming,  white  -  panelled  room  furnished  in 
Sheraton  style.  But  in  her  present  mood  its  grace- 
ful severity  failed  to  please  her;  to  her  lonely  gaze  it 
had  an  uninhabited  look  —  it  seemed  almost  to  re- 

310 


THE    GAMBLER 

semble  a  very  perfect  room  upon  the  stage.  Draw- 
inj^  back  hastily,  she  closed  the  door,  and,  moving 
down  the  hall,  entered  another  room. 

This  proved  to  be  her  own  bedroom — a  bright, 
high -ceiled  apartment  decorated  and  furnished  in 
old  French  fashion,  and  possessing  two  large  windows 
looking  upon  Hyde  Park.  But  here  again  she  was 
confronted  by  the  sensation  of  unfamiliarity.  And 
as  she  paused  just  inside  the  door,  looking  from  the 
long  windows  to  the  stately  bed,  she  was  suddenly 
and  completely  dominated  by  her  feelings.  In  a 
tempestuous  wave  of  emotion  her  hunger  for  happi- 
ness rose  menacingly,  while  the  tide  of  her  philosophy 
suddenly  ebbed.  In  that  moment,  as  she  stood  alone 
in  the  wide  room,  she  swayed  between  trust  in  her 
own  heart  and  faith  in  the  world's  healing  power. 
Then ,  as  has  so  frequently  happened ,  the  world  snatch- 
ed the  laurels  before  they  had  been  held  out. 

With  the  same  unmoved  demeanor  the  maid  who 
had  admitted  her  appeared  at  the  door. 

"If  you  please,  madam,  the  housemaid  tells  me 
that  her  ladyship  did  send  a  note  for  you  this  morn- 
ing.    You'll  find  it  on  the  dressing-table." 

At  the  woman's  words  Clodagh  started,  and  her 
whole  face  colored  and  changed.  Hurrying  across 
the  room,  she  saw  the  letter,  picked  it  up,  and  tore 
it  open.     She  read: 

"Dearest  Clodagh, — T  must  seem  a  perfect  beast.  But 
my  old  aunt  Deborah — with  whom  I  can't  aflford  to  quarrel! 
— has  announced  her  stupid  intention  of  spendins^  a  day  in 
town.  And  of  course  it  must  be  this  day  of  all  days.  Do 
be  a  darlinj^,  and  show  you  forj^ve  me  by  coming  round  to 
dine  at  eii^jht-thirty.  Lord  Deerehurst  returned  yesterday 
from  the  famous  two-months  rest-cure,  l<K)kinj^  younfjer  than 
ever.  He  and  Val  will  be  here  to-nicrht.  Bridge  after  din- 
ner.    Don't  fail  to  come.  Yours,  F.  H." 

311 


THE    GAMBLER 

As  Clodagh  read  the  last  line  of  the  letter  she  lifted 
her  head,  and  turned  with  a  quick  gesture  to  the 
maid  who  was  waiting  by  the  door. 

"I  want  a  fire  lighted  here,  and  my  tea  brought  to 
me  immediately  it  is  ready,"  she  cried,  in  a  changed 
voice.  "And  send  my  maid  in  directly  she  arrives. 
I'm  dining  out." 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  she  crossed  the  room 
and  paused  beside  one  of  the  windows  looking  down 
upon  the  park.  Her  spirits  had  risen ;  her  excite- 
ment had  been  rekindled;  she  had  been  saved  from 
the  one  companionship  she  had  learned  to  dread — 
companionship  with  herself. 


XXXII 

L\DY  FRANCES  HOPE'S  house  was  situated  in 
f  Curzon  Street,  and  thither  Clodagh  departed 
shortly  after  eight  o'clock. 

Again  she  chose  a  hansom  as  a  means  of  convey- 
ance, for  as  yet  there  had  been  no  question  of  her 
procuring  a  carriage  of  her  own ;  and  again  she  be- 
came conscious  of  the  peculiar  stimulus,  the  peculiar 
power  that  the  great  tide  of  London  life  exercises 
upon  its  observers.  The  last  glimmering  of  daylight 
was  lingering  in  the  sky  as  the  cab  passed  up  Knights- 
bridge,  but  already  the  houses  and  hotels  were  brill- 
iantly lighted,  and  the  stream  of  diners  and  theatre- 
goers was  forming  into  its  nightly  procession. 

During  that  short  drive  she  encountered  many 
glances  —  glances  of  interest,  criticism,  or  curiosity 
from  women  well-dressed  as  herself  and  bound  upon 
some  such  mission  as  her  own  —  glances  of  sharp 
speculation  or  sudden  ailmiration  from  men  dri\ing 
west  or  southward.  And  something  of  London's 
immensity,  something  of  London's  secrecy  came  to 
her  in  those  brief  moments;  she  was  stirred  by  the 
fact  that  has  moved  many  another  dweller  in  the 
vast  city — the  fact  that  every  day,  every  night,  some 
thousands  of  lives  brush  our  own  in  a  passing  glance, 
in  a  stray  word,  in  a  chance  touch,  and  then  drift  on 
into  mystery  never  to  reappear. 

Her  thoughts  were  confused   and  excited   as  she 

313 


THE    GAMBLER 

descended  from  the  cab  and  entered  the  Curzon 
Street  house;  but  on  the  moment  that  she  stepped 
into  the  hall  her  dreams  were  banished.  A  door  on 
her  right  opened,  and  her  hostess  hurried  forward  and 
kissed  her  effusively. 

"You  dear  thing!"  she  cried.  "Wasn't  it  abom- 
inable of  me?  Was  the  arrival  desperately  dreary? 
Come  up  to  my  bedroom.  The  men  haven't  come 
yet.  What  ages  it  seems  since  we  said  good-bye  at 
Nice!  How  are  you?"  She  talked  on  in  her  master- 
ful voice,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  until  they  en- 
tered the  bedroom.  There  her  maid,  who  was  busy- 
ing herself  at  the  dressing-table,  came  forward  to 
assist  Clodagh,  but  she  checked  her  at  once. 

"  Mrs.  Milbanke  won't  need  you,  Rees.  I'll  take 
off  her  cloak." 

Rees  moved  obediently  towards  the  door;  but  there 
she  ventured  to  pause  for  a  moment. 

"I  hope  you  had  a  comfortable  journey,  madam," 
she  said. 

Clodagh,  invariably  gracious  to  her  inferiors,  turn- 
ed to  her  warmly. 

"Thank  you,  Rees!  An  excellent  journey!  But 
I'm  glad  to  have  arrived — and  I'm  glad  to  see  every- 
body look  so  well."  She  added  the  last  with  a  little 
smile,  to  which  the  maid  responded  as  she  closed  the 
door. 

Lady  Frances  laughed. 

"You  have  bewitched  Rees,"  she  said.  "But  you 
do  that  as  you  eat  or  sleep — by  instinct.  Let  me 
look  at  you!"  She  laid  her  hands  on  Clodagh's 
shoulders  and  turned  her  towards  the  light. 

"You've  been  playing  every  night  since  I  left  you," 
she  said,  with  decision. 

Clodagh  laughed  with  some  constraint. 

314 


THE    GAMBLER 

"And  losing?" 

Clodagh  flushed. 

"I  have  no  luck,"  she  said,  shortly.  Then,  almost 
at  once,  she  turned  away,  freeing  herself  from  her 
companion's  detaining  hands. 

"Lady  Frances,"  she  said,  in  a  different  tone, 
"please  don't  think  I  forget  about — about — "  She 
hesitated.  "I  get  my  first  allowance  at  the  begin- 
ning of  June,  you  know." 

She  paused,  and  Lady  Frances  gave  a  seemingly 
careless  laugh.  "My  good  child,  don't  speak  of  it! 
Any  time!     Any  time!" 

"You  are  very  kind.  I  had  hoped  to  settle  up  on 
my  return,  but  the  last  week  was  shocking.  But 
everything  will  be  right  at  the  beginning  of  June. 
She  walked  over  to  the  dressing-table  and  looked  at 
herself  in  the  long  glass. 

"What  a  sweet  house  you  have!"  she  said,  sud- 
denly, in  an  entirely  different  voice. 

Lady  Francis  had  been  watching  her  with  a  close 
scrutiny ;  but  now,  with  a  good  deal  of  ready  dissimu- 
lation, she  threw  off  her  attentive  manner  and  an- 
swered in  her  own  light  tone. 

"Yes;  it  is  a  nice  little  place.  But  what  about  the 
flat?     Isn't  that  perfect?" 

"Yes." 

"  You  arc  not  enthusiastic  ?    Oh,  I  am  disappointed!" 

Clodagh  turned  from  the  mirror. 

"Forgive  me!"  she  said,  impulsively.  "Of  course 
the  flat  is  perfectly  sweet — and  exactly  what  I  want 
— and  an  astonishing  bargain  for  seven  himdred  a 
year.  It  was  just  the  arriving  alone  that  made  it 
seem  a  little — a  little — " 

"Of  course!  Of  course!  Poor,  dear  child!  But 
wait!     Wait  till  you  begin  to  know  people!" 

315 


THE    GAMBLER 

Clodagli's  expressive  face  brightened. 

"Yes.  And  when  Nance — when  my  sister  comes 
back!  Oh!  I  must  enjov  myself!  I  must  be  hap- 
py!" 

"Why  should  you  be  anything  else?  When  have 
you  heard  from  your  sister?" 

"The  day  I  left  Nice — a  most  dear  letter.  She  is 
having  a  heavenly  time  in  America.  The  Estcoits  are 
such  delightful  companions;  the  girl  is  seven  months 
younger  than  she  is,  and  the  boy  is  seven  years  older. 
Curious  difference,  isn't  it?" 

"Very.  But  I  didn't  know  there  was  a  boy.  I 
thought  it  was  only  the  school  friend  and  the  mother." 

"  Oh  no!  There's  the  brother — Pierce.  Nance's 
letter's  are  full  of  him." 

Lady  Frances  gave  a  little,  half-sarcastic  laugh. 

"Then  Nance  is  presumably  still  learning — though 
she  has  left  school?" 

Something  in  the  utterance  of  the  words  made 
Clodagh  flush. 

"Don't!"  she  said,  involuntarily.  "Don't!  Nance 
is — is  different  from  me." 

Then,  as  her  hostess  remained  silent,  she  turned 
and  looked  at  her. 

"Don't  be  offended!"  she  added.  "It  is  only  that 
I  can't  have  anything  cynical  said  of  Nance.  I  know 
you  don't  understand.  It  seems  that  because  I  sent 
her  to  America  I  don't  really  care — "  She  halted  again. 
"But  I  don't  make  you  understand!  I  don't  seem 
to  make  any  one  understand."  Her  voice  dropped 
slightly,  and  Lady  Frances,  as  though  fearing  some 
emotional  outburst,  broke  in,  hastily: 

"My  dear  child!  My  dear  Clodagh!"  Then  she 
paused,  for  the  door  opened  and  her  maid,  Rces,  re- 
appeared. 

316 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Excuse  me,  my  lady,  but  Lord  Dccrchurst  and 
Mr.  Scrraeauld  are  in  the  drawing-room.  Franks 
thought  your  ladyship  would  wish  to  know." 

"Quite  right.  Thank  you,  Rees.  Clodagh,  are 
you  ready  ?" 

Clodagh's  face  was  slightly  flushed  from  her  mo- 
mentary outbreak  as  she  left  the  bedroom,  her  mind 
slightly  distressed.  Descending  the  stairs,  Lady 
Frances  moved  to  her  side  and  passed  her  hand 
through  her  arm;  and  at  the  touch  a  sharp  repulsion 
to  this  friendship — this  fair-weather,  effusive,  super- 
ficial friendship  —  surged  through  her.  And  yet 
where  was  she  to  find  a  firmer  sentiment?  Where, 
in  all  the  world,  was  there  a  being  who  had  any  real 
need  of  her  ?  Her  aunt  ?  Her  cousin  ?  She  knew 
instinctively  that  their  world  and  her  own  were  in- 
evitably sundered.  Nance?  Had  not  even  Nance — 
the  little  Nance  of  childish  days — already  begun  to 
gather  interests  of  her  own — to  form  her  own  friend- 
ships? No;  there  was  no  niche  that  especially  claim- 
ed, that  especially  needed  her. 

At  this  point  in  her  hasty  and  confused  specula- 
tions the  door  of  the  drawing-room  was  thrown  open, 
and  after  an  interval  of  two  years  she  saw  Lord 
Deerehurst  and  Serracauld. 

More  than  once  she  had  pictured  the  meeting  with 
the  old  peer;  but,  as  is  invariably  the  case,  the  reality 
was  much  more  vivid  than  the  imagination  had  been. 
Deerehurst  came  forward  with  the  stiff,  courtly  man- 
ner that  brought  back  with  almost  painful  clearness 
the  balcony  of  the  Venetian  palace  —  the  Venetian 
salon  with  its  polished  floor  and  glittering  chandeliers 
— the  Venetian  night-music  borne  across  the  waters. 
It  all  surged  back  in  a  wave  of  memory — first  a  pang 
of  pain,  then  a  pang  of  reckless  self-contempt.    After 

317 


THE    GAMBLER 

all,  who  cared?  What  did  her  action,  her  manner 
of  living — even  her  existence — matter  to  any  living 
soul  ?  She  held  out  her  hand  and  allowed  him  to 
bow  over  it. 

He  bowed  over  it  for  long ;  then  he  raised  his  head 
and  looked  at  her.  His  pale,  inscrutable  face  was  as 
waxlike  as  ever;  his  eyes  were  as  cold,  as  penetrating, 
as  old  in  their  look  of  supreme  wisdom. 

"So  we  meet  again,"  he  said.  "My  hope  has  been 
fulfilled!" 

For  a  moment  Clodagh  stood,  permitting  him  to 
clasp  her  fingers  and  look  into  her  face,  while  she  her- 
self made  no  effort  to  speak;  then,  as  if  suddenly  con- 
scious of  something  strange  in  the  position,  she  freed 
her  hand  with  a  little,  nervous  laugh,  and  turned  to 
where  Serracauld  was  waiting  to  greet  her. 

With  a  smile  and  a  gesture  of  easy  familiarity  the 
younger  man  came  forward. 

"Welcome  to  England!"  he  said.  "Only  yester- 
day a  man  at  my  club  was  telling  me  of  the  prettiest 
woman  on  the  Riviera  this  year.  I  won't  be  personal, 
but  the  lady  was  at  Monte  Carlo  only  a  week  ago — 
turning  other  people's  heads  and  emptying  her  own 
pockets  with  the  most  delightful  impartiality." 

Clodagh  laughed,  but  this  time  without  embarrass- 
ment. 

"Be  as  personal  as  you  like,"  she  said,  carelessly. 
"  It  wasn't  my  fault  if  luck  was  dead  against  me." 

Deerehurst  came  forward  slowly. 

"But  the  turned  heads?"  he  asked. 

She  smiled. 

"Was  it  my  business  to  put  them  straight  again? 
I'm  not  a  surgeon." 

They  all  laughed;  and  at  that  moment  dinn/sr  was 
announced. 

318 


THE    GAMBLER 

Lady  Frances  Hope  touched  Clodagh's  arm. 

"Lord  Deerchurst  will  play  host,  Clodagh.  Val,  I 
consign  myself  to  you." 

Serracauld  moved  to  her  side  with  his  usual  in- 
dolent ease,  and  Deerehurst  offered  Clodagh  his 
arm. 

They  had  to  traverse  the  length  of  a  large  double 
drawing-room  before  the  dining-room  was  reached. 
And  during  that  passage  Deerehurst  found  oppor- 
tunity for  a  whispered  word  or  two.  As  they  moved 
forward  he  avoided  looking  at  Clodagh;  but  his  arm 
slightly  and  unmistakably  pressed  hers. 

"Am  I  not  forgiving,  to  be  so  glad  to  sec  you?"  he 
murmured,  in  his  thin,  cold  voice.  "I  waited  on  the 
terrace  until  twelve  o'clock,  that  night  at  Venice." 

Involuntarily  Clodagh's  face  flushed.  Deerehurst's 
voice  was  as  potent  as  ever  to  express  infinitely  more 
than  the  words  it  uttered. 

"I — I  wish  to  forget  Venice,"  she  said. 

He  stole  a  swift  glance  at  her. 

"Then  shall  we  make  a  compact?  Shall  we  forget 
it  jointly  ?" 

She  said  nothing. 

Again,  almost  imperceptibly,  his  arm  pressed  hers. 

"Why  try  to  ignore  me?     I  am  in  your  life." 

The  words  were  few  and  very  simple;  so  simple 
and  so  few  that  they  conveyed  a  peculiar  impression 
of  power — of  weight. 

A  faint,  half-comprehended  chill  fell  upon  Clodagh ; 
such  a  chill  as  had  fallen  upon  her  once  before  in  the 
restaurant  at  Venice,  when  Deerehurst  had  drunk  to 
their  next  meeting  as  host  and  guest. 

She  laughed  suddenly,  with  a  quick,  nervous  lift- 
ing of  the  head. 

"But  it  is  life  itself  I  wisli  to  ignore." 

319 


THE    GAMBLER 

Again  he  glanced  at  her,  very  swiftly,  very  search- 
ingly. 

"So  be  it!"  he  said.  "  I  take  that  as  a  challenge — 
to  life  and  to  me." 

At  the  conclusion  of  dinner  that  night  the  httle 
party  of  four  sat  down  to  bridge.  And  an  hour  after 
midnight  Clodagh  rose  from  the  card-table  a  loser 
to  the  extent  of  over  forty  pounds. 


XXXIII 

ON  a  certain  morning  in  the  last  week  in  June, 
Lady  Frances  Hope  rode  into  the  court-yard  of 
the  Knightsbridge  flats.  Throwing  her  bridle  to  the 
man-servant  who  was  attending  her,  she  dismounted 
from  her  horse,  gathered  up  her  habit,  and  entered 
the  doorway  of  the  building. 

Seating  herself  in  the  lift,  she  was  borne  upward, 
and  a  few  seconds  later  stepped  out  upon  the  second 
floor,  and,  going  briskly  forward,  pressed  the  bell  of 
Clodagh's  hall-door. 

The  summons  was  answered  by  the  same  maid  who 
had  admitted  Clodagh  on  the  day  of  her  arrival,  and, 
seeing  the  visitor,  she  drew  back  instantly,  throwing 
the  door  wide. 

"Is  Mrs.  Milbanke  up,  Barkes?"  Lady  Frances 
asked.     "  I  did  not  see  her  in  the  park  this  morning." 

"Mrs.  Milbanke  didn't  ride  this  morning,  my  lady. 
She  is  having  breakfast  in  her  own  room.  Shall  I 
say  your  ladyship  is  here?" 

Lady  Frances  replied  by  walking  into  the  hall. 

"No,  thanks.     I'll  announce  myself." 

Stepping  forward  without  ceremony,  she  passed 
down  the  hall  and  opened  the  door  of  Clodagh's  bed- 
room. But  on  the  threshold  she  paused,  interested 
by  what  she  saw. 

The  two  windows  that  looked  upon  the  park  were 
wide  open,  and  through  them  the  beautiful,  warm  sun- 

21  321 


THE    GAMBLER 

shine  was  pouring  across  the  room,  touching  the  old 
French  furniture  into  a  renewal  of  its  glories.  Drawn 
into  the  full  radiance  of  this  mellow  light  stood  a 
small,  round  table  set  with  silver,  china,  and  a  bowl 
of  flowers ;  and  at  this  table  sat  Clodagh  herself.  She 
was  wearing  a  simple  dress  of  black  muslin,  and  her 
hair — which  gleamed  almost  bronze  in  the  clear,  strong 
light — was  twisted  into  one  thick  coil.  But  it  was 
neither  her  dress  nor  appearance  that  attracted  her 
visitor;  it  was  something  vaguely  disturbing — some- 
thing subtly  suggestive — in  her  attitude,  as  she  sat 
close  to  the  table,  an  array  of  letters  and  papers 
spread  before  her,  a  gold  pencil  held  thoughtfully 
against  her  lips. 

Thinking  it  was  a  servant  who  had  entered  the 
room,  she  did  not  change  her  position  with  the  open- 
ing of  the  door,  and  Lady  Frances  Hope  had  a  full 
minute  in  which  to  observe  her;  then,  having  made 
her  deductions,  she  allowed  her  presence  to  be  known. 

"Can  you  tolerate  such  an  early  visitor?"  she 
asked. 

Clodagh  started  almost  guiltily,  and  drew  the  array 
of  papers  into  a  confused  heap;  then  she  rose  hastily, 
laughing  to  cover  her  momentary  confusion. 

"How  you  frightened  me!"  she  said.  "I  must  be 
developing  nerves.     But  come  in!     I  am  delighted!" 

She  went  forward  with  apparent  cordiality,  and, 
taking  her  visitor's  hand,  kissed  her. 

"  How  nice  and  energetic  you  look!  You  make  me 
feel  very  lazy.  I  wasn't  in  the  mood  for  a  ride  this 
morning.     Come  in!     Sit  down!" 

Lady  Frances  responded  to  the  suggestion  by 
moving  across  the  room.  Pausing  by  the  breakfast- 
table,  she  bent  forward  and  buried  her  face  for  a 
moment  in  the  flowers,  at  the  same  time  stealing  a 

322 


IAN     Vor    mi   KkATK    Sl'lll    AN     1:AKI,\    SIMlDk.'     SIIK    ASKi:ii 


THE    GAMBLER 

swift  glance  at  the  scattered  letters  beside  Clodagh's 
plate.  Then,  straightening  herself  again  with  ap- 
parent nonchalance,  she  moved  to  the  open  window 
and  stood  looking  down  upon  the  park. 

"Clodagh!"  she  said,  suddenly.  "Are  you  busy? 
Can  we  talk?" 

Clodagh  turned  sharply,  and  almost  with  a  gesture 
of  surprise.  The  whole  round  of  her  intercourse  with 
Lady  Frances  Hope  had  been  of  so  easy,  of  so  super- 
ficial a  nature — the  whole  tone  of  their  friendship 
had  been  pitched  in  so  unemotional  a  key,  since  the 
line  night  in  the  Paris  hotel  where  they  had  touched 
upon  things  vital  to  them  both — that  the  suggestion 
of  reality,  or  even  gravity,  brought  a  sudden  un- 
easiness to  her  mind. 

"Oh,  of  course!"  she  said,  uncertainly.  "Of 
course!     Let  us  sit  down." 

She  returned  to  her  own  seat  and  indicated  an- 
other to  her  visitor,  with  a  slightly  hurried  move- 
ment. 

But  Lady  Frances  did  not  respond  to  the  invitation. 
Instead,  she  wandered  back  to  the  table  and  again 
bent  over  the  bowl  of  lilac. 

"Why  arc  wc  always  climbing — only  to  slip  back 
again?"  she  asked,  irrelevantly. 

Again   a  faint  uneasiness  touched  Clodagh's  face. 

"1  thought  you  enjoyed  climbing." 

"Not  to-day.  Clodagh,  you'll  think  me  a  horrid 
nuisance,  but  it's  about  that  money — " 

She  paused  as  she  said  the  word,  and  involuntarily 
her  quick  glance  passed  once  more  over  the  papers  on 
the  table. 

For  a  second  CU)ilagh  remained  silent;  then  she 
spoke,  a  little  slowly,  a  little  haltingly. 

"Oh  yes — the  money,"  she  said. 

323 


THE    GAMBLER 

Lady  Frances  looked  at  her  shrewdly. 

"Yes,  you  remember  on  Tuesday — when  you  bor- 
rowed that  sixty  pounds  to  pay  old  Lady  Shrawle — ■ 
I  said  I  could  wait  for  everything  till  August." 

"Yes.     Oh  yes." 

"Well,  I've  had  a  horrid  drop  since  then — yester- 
day, in  fact." 

For  a  moment  longer  Clodagh  sat  staring  aimlessly 
at  the  papers  in  front  of  her;  then  she  raised  her  head 
and  looked  at  her  companion.  Her  face  was  a  little 
pale,  but  her  eyes  and  lips  looked  almost  scornfully 
unconcerned. 

"Poor  you!"  she  said,  easily.  "What  a  bore! 
You  must  let  me  settle  up  our  differences  at  once — 
to-day." 

She  rose  and  pushed  back  her  chair. 

A  look  of  surprise  crossed  the  older  woman's  face 
— this  time  it  was  surprise  tempered  with  bewilder- 
ment. 

"To-day!  But  can  you?  I  know  how  many  little 
expenses — "  She  waved  her  hand  expressively  tow- 
ards the  breakfast-table,  with  its  many  costly  ad- 
juncts. 

Clodagh  made  a  lofty  gesture  of  denial,  and,  walk- 
ing across  the  room,  paused  beside  her  bureau. 

For  a  minute  there  was  no  sound  in  the  room  save 
the  abrupt  opening  and  shutting  of  one  or  two  small 
drawers;  then  Clodagh  turned  round  again,  a  check- 
book in  her  hand. 

"Now  tell  me  what  I  owe  you,"  she  said.  "I'll 
write  you  a  check  and  post  -  date  it  to  July 
ist.  Will  that  do?  I  draw  my  money  then,  you 
know." 

"Perfectly.     But,  my  dear  Clodagh — " 

But  again  Clodagh  made  a  gesture  that  seemed  to 

324 


THE    GAMBLER 

relegate  the  matter  to  a  rej^ion  of  oljscurc,  if  not  of 
absolutely  contemptible,  things. 

"  Don't  trouble,"  she  said.  "  Money  is  never  worth 
an  argument.     What  do  I  owe?" 

During  her  words  her  companion  had  sat  silent — 
speculative  and  suspicious.  To  her  worldly  mind 
Clodagh's  grand  manner,  Clodagh's  extraordinary  be- 
havior, indicated  but  one  possibility.  She  had  found 
means  of  augmenting  her  income. 

Any  knowledge  of  the  false  pride,  the  empty  mag- 
nificence that  will,  metaphorically  speaking,  fling  its 
last  coin  to  a  beggar,  while  passing  on  to  penury,  had 
never  come  within  her  experience.  It  needs  the  en- 
vironments of  such  paces  as  Orristown  to  bring  them 
to  maturity.  She  looked  now  at  her  companion,  and 
her  eyes  narrowed  in  a  sudden,  triumphant  satisfac- 
tion. Something  that  she  had  anticipated  had  come 
to  pass.  At  the  imagined  discovery  she  gave  a  quick 
laugh. 

"If  you  insist  on  being  so  scrupulous — " 

Clodagh  looked  round  from  the  bureau  at  which 
she  had  seated  herself. 

"How  much?"  she  said,  laconically. 

Lady  Frances  pretended  to  knit  her  brows. 

"Well,  there  was  the  eight  hundred  pounds  at 
Nice,  and  the  forty  pounds  the  night  of  your  return 
to  town — the  night  we  played  bridge  with  Val  and 
Lord  Deerehurst — "  She  looked  very  quickly  at 
Clodagh. 

But  Clodagh  gave  no  sign.  "And  the  fifty  pounds 
a  fortnight  ago,  besides  the  sixty  for  Lady  Shrawle," 
she  interrupted. 

"Yes.     Oh  yes!     Let  me  see,  that  makes — " 

"Nine  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,"  Clodagh  inter- 
jected, in  a  very  quiet  voice,  and.  picking  up  a  pen, 

325 


THE    GAMBLER 

she  wrote  out  the  check,  signing  it  with  her  usual 
bold  signature.  A  moment  later  she  rose,  blotted  it, 
and  held  it  out  to  Lady  Frances  Hope. 

As  the  flimsy  slip  of  paper  passed  from  one  to  the 
other  the  elder  woman  permitted  a  gleam  of  her 
curiosity  to  show  in  her  eyes. 

"A  thousand  thanks,"  she  exclaimed.  "And 
don't  think  me  a  wretch  if  I  run  away  now  that  I've 
got  it.  You  know  how  fidgety  my  bay  mare  is. 
Well,  good-bye.     I  shall  see  you  at  Raiielagh?" 

But  Clodagh  was  absently  studying  her  check- 
book. 

"I  don't  think  so,"  she  said.  "Lord  Deerehurst 
offered  to  take  me  down,  but  I  sha'n't  go.  I — I  have 
some  business  to  attend  to." 

Lady  Frances  laughed,  picked  up  her  riding-whip 
which  she  had  laid  aside,  and,  coming  forward,  kissed 
Clodagh. 

"Then  I  expect  I  shall  see  you.  Deerehurst  is 
much  more  insistent  than  any  business."  Once  again 
her  shrewd  glance  travelled  over  Clodagh's  face. 
"Good-bye.  In  any  case,  you'll  be  at  the  Ords'  for 
bridge  to-night?  We  can  arrange  then  about  going 
down  to  Tuffnell." 

"Yes."  Clodagh  returned  the  pressure  of  her 
hand.  "Yes;  I  suppose  I  shall  go  to  the  Ords'. 
Yes;  I  shall — good-bye." 

She  walked  with  her  visitor  to  the  door  of  the  bed- 
room, and  stood  waiting  on  the  threshold  until  the 
hall -door  had  closed.  Then,  almost  mechanically, 
she  turned,  walked  back  to  the  table,  and  with  a 
sharp,  nervous  movement  gathered  up  the  heaj)  of 
papers  still  lying  beside  her  plate. 

As  she  stood  there,  in  the  flood  of  June  sunshine, 
beside  the  attractive   disarray  of  the  pretty  break- 

326 


THE    GAMBLHR 

fast-table,  she  was  aware  of  a  horrible  sense  of  help- 
lessness, of  alarm  and  impotence.  For  the  papers 
she  held  between  lur  hands  were  bills— a  sheaf  of 
bills — all  unpaid  and  all  j)ressing. 

As  she  stood  there  a  swift  review  of  the  [)ast  months 
sped  before  her  mind,  carrying  something  like  dis- 
may in  its  train. 

In  April  she  had  entered  upon  the  tenancy  of  her 
furnished  fiat,  having  already  borrowed  eight  hun- 
dred poimds  from  her  friend  and  counsellor  Lady 
Frances  Hope,  and  under  the  auspices  of  this  same 
counsellor  had  begun  her  career  as  a  woman  of  fashion. 

In  social  circles  the  period  and  the  conditions  of 
mourning  become  more  slender  every  season.  And 
nowadays,  although  a  widow  may  not  attend  dances 
or  large  dinner-parties,  there  are  a  hundred  smaller, 
more  exclusive — and  possibly  more  expensive — forms 
of  entertainment  at  which  she  may  appear  in  her  own 
intimate  set.  Very  quiet  dinners,  very  small  lunch- 
eon -  parties,  even  friendly  bridge  -  parties,  are  quite 
permissible,  when  it  is  a  tacitly  accepted  fact  that 
the  mourner  is,  by  a  natural  law,  barely  entering  upon 
her  life,  that  the  one  mourned  has  departed  from  it 
by  an  equally  natural  dispensation. 

Under  these  conditions  Clodagh  had  begun  her 
London  career,  and  for  more  than  a  month  she  had 
lived  in  the  most  costly  sen§e  of  the  word.  Her 
mourning  had  been  the  most  distinguished  that  a 
famous  dressmaker  could  devise ;  her  electric  brough- 
am had  possessed  all  the  newest  improvements;  the 
flowers  that  fillcil  her  room  had  been  supplied  by  a 
fashionable  florist  at  an  exorbitant  cost.  In  a  word, 
she  had  behaved  like  a  child  who  has  been  given  a 
pocketful  of  bright  new  pennies  and  believes  them  to 
be  golden  coins. 

327 


THE    GAMBLER 

Once  or  twice  in  the  course  of  those  extravagant 
weeks  a  pang  of  misgiving  had  crossed  her  soul,  but 
it  had  only  been  a  pang  of  the  moment. 

The  phantom  of  tradesmen's  bihs  is  one  so  easily- 
dismissed  from  the  Irish  mind  that,  unless  it  material- 
izes very  forcibly,  it  may  almost  be  considered  non- 
existent. 

On  July  ist  she  was  to  receive  her  half-yearly 
allowance,  and  towards  July  ist  she  looked  with 
an  almost  superstitious  confidence.  A  thousand 
pounds!  It  was  sufficient  to  settle  a  plane tful  of 
debts ;  and  if  any  remained  as  satelhtes  to  the  planet 
— well,  there  was  January  ist. 

But  now  her  confidence  had  been  rudely  shaken. 
In  a  sudden  moment  of  pride — of  bravado — she  had 
signed  away  almost  the  whole  of  the  anticipated  half- 
yearly  income.  She  stood  possessed  of  fifty  pounds, 
with  which  to  dress,  to  eat,  to  exist  from  July  to  Jan- 
uary ;  and  in  her  hands  was  the  sheaf  of  unpaid  bills. 

There  is  no  race  of  people  that  undertakes  liabili- 
ties so  lightly,  and  that  is  so  overwhelmed  when  retri- 
bution falls  upon  it,  as  the  Irish  race.  As  Clodagh 
gradually  faced  her  position  panic  seized  upon  her. 
For  weeks  she  had  lived  upon  the  credit  that  the 
London  tradesman  gives  to  customers  who  come  pro- 
vided with  good  references;  and  now  suddenly  she 
had  realized  —  first  by  the  arrival  of  certain  bills, 
couched  in  a  new  and  imperative  strain,  later  by 
Lady  Frances  Hope's  unexpected  demand  for  her 
money — that  English  credit  is  not  the  lax,  indefinite 
credit  of  such  places  as  Muskcere  and  Carrigmore; 
that  it  is  a  credit  demanding — insisting  upon — timely 
payment. 

And  where  was  she  to  turn — where  look — for  the 
necessary  funds? 

328 


THE    GAMBLER 

In  a  dazed  way  she  thought  of  David  Barnard, 
who  had  returned  a  month  previously  from  a  hoH- 
day  in  Spain ;  but  her  pride  made  her  shrink  sensi- 
tively from  the  thought  of  the  suave  indulgence  with 
which  he  would  listen  to  her  confession  of  folly.  Once 
the  thought  of  recalling  Lady  Frances  Hope  and  ex- 
plaining the  position  to  her  sped  through  her  mind; 
but  she  dismissed  it  as  swiftly  as  it  came.  In  a  rest- 
less perturbation  she  turned  and  walked  across  the 
room,  pausing  once  more  beside  the  bureau,  which 
stood  in  a  recess  between  the  windows. 

Where  could  she  turn — where  look — for  the  money 
that  would  tide  over  her  difficulties?  In  her  mental 
distraction  she  laid  aside  the  bills  she  was  still  holding, 
and  aimlessly  picked  up  a  half-dozen  opened  letters 
that  lay  awaiting  answers.  A  couple  of  invitations 
to  lunch ;  an  invitation  to  play  bridge ;  the  offer  of  a 
box  at  the  opera;  Laurence  Asshlin's  monthly  report 
from  Orristown;  Nance's  last  letter  from  America. 

With  a  vague  preoccupation  she  raised  the  last  of 
these  and  looked  at  it. 

How  free  and  unhampered  Nance  seemed  in  her 
inexperience  of  life!  She  looked  unseeingly  at  the 
closely  written  lines,  her  mind  in  a  harassed  way  con- 
trasting her  own  and  her  sister's  fate.  Then  quite 
suddenly  she  dropped  the  letter  and  lifted  her  head. 

A  thought  had  struck  her.  As  a  flash  of  lightning 
might  rend  a  night  sky,  an  inspiration  had  illumi- 
nated the  darkness  of  her  mind.  The  thousand 
pounds  which  was  to  be  Nance's  property  when  she 
came  of  age,  or  upon  her  engagement,  still  lay  to 
her  own  credit — in  her  own  name — in  the  bank  with 
which  Milbanke  had  done  business. 

It  is  extraordinary  how  rapidly  a  thought  can 
mature   in   a  receptive   mind.     In   one   moment,   as 

329 


THE    GAMBLER 

Clodagh  stood  beside  the  bureau,  all  the  possibilities 
comprised  in  that  ;£iooo  broke  upon  her  under- 
standing. 

How  if  she  withdrew  it  as  a  loan!  No  one — not 
even  Nance  herself — need  know;  and  she  could  refund 
it  within  six  months — or  within  a  year— long  before 
the  thought  of  marriage  could  enter  the  child's  mind. 

Then  suddenly  she  paused  in  her  mental  calcula- 
tions, and  a  new  expression  passed  over  her  face. 
Was  it  right,  was  it  honorable,  to  make  use  of  this 
money  left  in  her  safe-keeping? 

Uneasy  and  distressed,  she  turned  to  the  open  win- 
dow as  though  a  study  of  the  life  beyond  her  own 
might  help  her  in  her  dilemma.  The  scene  she  looked 
upon  was  interesting  and  even  beautiful.  The  grass 
of  the  park  still  retained  something  of  its  first  green- 
ness; in  the  distance  the  clustering  bower  of  chest- 
nuts and  copper  beeches  suggested  something  far 
removed  from  the  traffic  and  toil  of  the  great  town; 
while  below  the  window,  tmder  a  canopy  of  leaves, 
the  morning  procession  of  horses  and  carriages  passed 
incessantly  to  and  fro. 

What  a  curious  world  it  was!  How  conventional 
and  obvious,  and  yet  in  reality  how  inscrutable! 
What  would  it  say  of  her,  did  it  know  her  true  posi- 
tion ?  What  comfort  —  what  aid  —  would  it  offer? 
Involuntarily,  almost  curiously,  she  laid  her  finger- 
tips upon  the  window-sill  and  bent  slightly  forward. 
Then,  very  suddenly,  she  drew  back  into  the  room, 
her  face  flushing. 

Lord  Deerehurst,  mounted  upon  a  high,  black 
horse,  had  pas.sed  the  window  at  the  moment  that 
she  looked  out,  and,  raising  his  head,  had  seen  and 
bowed  to  her. 

The  incident  was  slight;  l)ut  at  certain  moments 

330 


THE     GAMBLER 

the  Celtic  nature  is  extraordinarily,  even  mysterious- 
ly, open  to  suggestion.  Clodagh  could  nol  liave  de- 
fined her  thought;  but  the  thought  was  there,  a  vague, 
half-fearful,  wholly  instinctive  thought  that  sudden- 
ly prompted  her  to  shield  herself,  to  ward  ofl  the 
nearer  approach  of  this  world  that  she  had  leaned  from 
her  window  to  study  impersonally,  and  from  which 
she  had  received  so  peculiarly  personal  an  impression. 
She  continued  to  stand  for  a  moment  longer  in  an 
attitude  of  doubt;  then  swiftly,  almost  abruptly,  she 
turned  round  to  the  bureau,  and,  kneeling  down  be- 
fore it,  reopened  her  check  -  book  with  tremulous 
hands  and  wrote  out  a  check  for  £1000  payable  to 
herself. 


XXXIV 

THE  habit  of  self-deception  had  become  as  a 
cloak  in  which  Clodagh  wrapped  herself.  She 
desired  happiness,  therefore  she  told  herself  that  she 
was  happy;  she  instinctively  wished  to  live  honor- 
ably, therefore,  through  her  own  persuasion,  she  be- 
lieved her  actions  to  be  honorable.  And  under  this 
insidiously  sheltering  garment  her  appropriation  of 
her  sister's  money  was  securely  hidden  away.  To 
her  own  thinking  —  once  the  first  misgiving  had 
been  buried — there  was  no  real  wrong,  no  real  dis- 
honor, in  the  taking  of  the  ;;^iooo.  She  needed  it 
temporarily,  and  would,  in  due  time,  repay  it  with 
interest.  The  fact  that  she  did  not  think  it  necessary 
to  inform  Nance  of  what  she  had  done  certainly 
weakens  the  case  for  her  defence;  but  had  she  come 
to  be  judged  from  some  impersonal  source,  it  is  quite 
possible  she  would  have  made  as  subtle  and  specious 
a  justification  of  her  conduct  as  that  which  she 
offered  to  herself. 

In  this  light  the  act  stood  recorded  in  her  own 
conscience.  She  needed  the  money;  she  took  the 
money;  and  having  taken  it,  she  set  about  banishing 
the  recollection  of  it  from  her  mind. 

For  three  days  after  she  had  signed  the  check  she 
retired  into  semi-privacy.  She  was  at  home  to  no 
one;  and  although  she  continued  to  ride  each  morn- 
ing and  drive  each  afternoon  in  the  park,  she  did  so 

332 


THE    GAMBLER 

with  so  cold  a  demeanor  that  none  of  her  friends  had 
dared  to  accost  her.  For  three  nights  she  stayed  in- 
doors alone;  but  on  the  fourth  the  insurmountable 
restlessness  that  settles  so  frequently  upon  the  high- 
spirited  woman  devoid  of  home  ties  seized  on  her 
remorselessly.  The  thought  of  further  solitude  be- 
came unendurable — the  idea  of  another  lonely  even- 
ing something  not  to  be  borne.  At  eight  o'clock  she 
rose  from  her  solitary  dinner,  tingling  in  every  nerve 
for  some  companionship,  and,  telephoning  to  Curzon 
Street,  ascertained  that  Lady  Frances  Hope  was  at 
home  and  willing  to  see  her.  And  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  later  she  stepped  from  her  brougham  at  the 
door  of  the  familiar  house. 

She  was  informed  that  Lady  Frances  was  in  her 
own  room  preparing  to  go  out,  but  would  be  glad  to 
see  her  if  she  would  come  up-stairs. 

She  acquiesced  quickly,  and  before  the  servant 
could  conduct  her  down  the  hall  had  brushed  past 
him  and  begun  to  run  up  the  stairs. 

Opening  the  door  of  her  friend's  bedroom,  she 
paused  on  the  threshold,  and  gave  a  little  exclama- 
tion of  admiration.  Lady  Frances  Hope  was  stand- 
ing before  a  long  mirror,  while  the  maid  Rees  knelt 
upon  the  ground  beside  her,  giving  the  finishing 
touches  to  the  skirt  of  a  strikingly  beautiful  dress. 

Clodagh  clasped  her  hands  in  a  gesture  of  delight, 
then  ran  forward  into  the  room. 

"How  splendid  you  look!"  she  cried.  "Where  are 
you  going?     What  a  heavenly  dress!" 

Lady  Frances  smiled. 

"At  last!"  she  exclaimed,  holding  out  her  cheek 
to  be  kissed.  "What  have  you  been  doing  with 
vourseU?  I  have  been  persecuted  with  inquiries  for 
you." 

333 


THE    GAMBLER 

Clodagh  laughed  excitedly. 

"I  have  been  paying  bills,"  she  said,  in  a  high, 
light  voice. 

"So  that  you  may  begin  to  run  up  new  ones?" 

"Quite  possibly.  But  where  are  you  going?  All 
this  magnificence  makes  me  curious."  She  sank  into 
a  low  chair  and  glanced  with  bright,  interested  eyes 
at  her  stately  companion. 

But  Lady  Frances  ignored  her  question. 

"We  shall  soon  be  finished  with  all  vainglories," 
she  said.  "The  season  is  dying — even  if  it's  dying 
hard.  Do  you  pine  for  the  country  now  that  the 
heat  has  come?  I  shall  expect  you  to  love  Tuffnell, 
you  know.     It  really  is  quaint.    Even  I  am  fond  of  it." 

Clodagh  looked  up  eagerly. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  love  TufTnell.  It  has  been  sweet 
of  your  sister  to  ask  me  there — but  it  has  been  sweeter 
still  of  her  to  ask  Nance.  You  don't  know  what  it 
will  be  for  me  to  meet  Nance  down  there — away  from 
everything."     Her  voice  fell  a  little. 

Lady  Frances  laughed  pleasantly. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  have  arranged  that  she  should 
come  right  on  from  Liverpool  instead  of  staying  in 
town  for  a  night,"  she  said,  easily.  "  It  will  be  much 
the  simpler  plan.  By-the-way,  what  day  will  we  ar- 
range to  go  down?  You  and  I,  I  mean?  Diana's 
big  dance  is  on  the  fifth.  Suppose  we  go  down  a  day 
or  two  before?" 

Clodagh  responded  instantly. 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "yes,  certainly.  But  talking  of 
the  dance  reminds  me  of  my  curiosity.  Where  are 
you  going  to-night?" 

This  time  evasion  was  impossible.  Lady  Frances 
turned  to  the  dressing  -  table  and  picked  up  a  dia- 
mond  ornament. 

334 


THE     GAMBLER 

"You  can  fix  tliis  in,  Rces,"  she  said,  "and  then 
go.  I  am  going  to  the  Tampcrleighs',''  she  added, 
carelessly,  without  looking  at  Clodagh. 

"The  Tampcrleighs' ?" 

"In  Grosvenor  Place.      Dull  people." 

Clodagh  picked  up  a  fan  that  was  lying  on  a  taljle 
near  her  and  examined  it  thoughtfully. 

"Isn't  Lady  Tamperlcigh  an  aunt  of  Sir  Walter 
Gore's?" 

"  Yes;  and  oM  Lord  Tamperlcigh  is  a  cousin  of  my 
mother's — which  connects  Walter  and  me  in  a  round- 
about way." 

There  was  a  slight  silence,  while  Rees  hovered  about 
her  mistress  with  one  or  two  last  attentions,  and  then 
quietly  left  the  room.  As  she  closctl  the  door  Clo- 
dagh looked  up  from  the  fan  she  had  been  studying 
so  attentively. 

"Lady  Frances,"  she  said,  quickly,  "you  know 
Lady  Tamperlcigh  very  well?" 

Lady  Frances's  eyes  became  vigilant. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  vaguely.     "Oh  yes." 

"Then  take  me  with  you  to  her  party — as  you  took 
me  to  the  Hensleys'  and  the  Vibrants'  last  week. 
I'm  wild  to  go  somewhere  —  to  go  anywhere  to- 
night." She  paused  excitedly;  then,  as  her  eyes 
scanned  Lady  Frances's  face,  her  expression  fell. 
"Of  course  if  there's  the  least  —  the  very  least  — 
difficulty—" 

With  a  swift,  tactful  movement  Lady  Frances 
came  towards  her. 

"My  dear  Clodagh!  Don't!  You  hnoiu  how 
proud  I  am  of  you!     My  hesitation  was  merely — " 

"Merely  what?" 

T>ady  Frances  laid  her  hand  upon  Clodagh's 
shoulder. 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Walter  came  back  from  Russia  a  week  ago.  He 
will  be  there  to-night ;  and  I  think — I  think — ' '  She 
seemed  to  hesitate.  "I  think  that  perhaps,  in  view 
of  his  narrow  ideas,  it  might  be  pleasanter  for  you — " 
She  left  the  sentence  expressively  unfinished. 

Clodagh  rose  rather  hastily,  her  face  red. 

"Of  course!"  she  said.  "Of  course!  Sir  Walter 
Gore  is  the  last  man  in  London  I  should  wish  to 
meet." 

Lady  Frances  said  nothing,  but,  moving  calmly 
across  the  room,  took  her  cloak  from  a  chair. 

"Where  can  I  drop  you?"  she  asked.  "At  the 
club?" 

For  a  second  Clodagh  stood  staring  with  very 
bright  eyes  at  an  open  window  across  which  a  lace 
curtain  hung  motionless  in  the  still,  hot  air;  then  she 
lifted  her  head  and  in  her  own  turn  crossed  the  room. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  quietly;  "yes,  at  the  club." 

Not  many  days  later  Clodagh,  in  company  with 
Lady  Frances  Hope,  left  London  for  Buckingham- 
shire, on  her  promised  visit  to  the  latter's  sister, 
Lady  Diana  Tuffnell. 

The  house-party  at  Tuffnell  Place  was  to  include- — 
besides  one  or  two  men  and  women  of  personal  dis- 
tinction— a  small  section  of  Lady  Frances  Hope's 
coterie  from  the  merely  fashionable  world,  compris- 
ing Lord  Deerehurst,  Serracauld,  and  Mrs.  Bathurst. 
For,  although  Lady  Diana  Tuffnell  was  very  uncom- 
promising in  the  choice  of  her  own  friends,  she  had 
always  been  a  complacent  sister,  and  Tuffnell  Place 
generally  opened  its  doors  during  the  month  of  July 
to  Lady  Frances  Hope  and  her  intimates. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  Clodagh  arrived, 
and  the  old  Elizabethan  house,  with  its  many  win- 

33(> 


THE    GAMBLER 

dows  of  thick,  small-paned  glass  and  its  fine,  oak- 
raftered  hall,  filled  her  with  pleasure.  After  she  had 
been  greeted  by  Lady  Diana,  and  introduced  to  Mr. 
Tuffnell — a  typical,  kindly  English  squire,  who  in- 
variably went  his  own  way  straightly,  and  was  con- 
tent to  assume  that  others  did  the  same — she  passed 
up  the  shallow  staircase  and  entered  the  room  that 
had  been  allotted  to  her,  with  a  sense  of  something 
nearer  to  happiness  than  she  had  known  for  months. 
In  the  whole  air  of  the  house  and  its  inmates  there 
was  a  suggestion  of  restfulness,  of  friendliness,  of 
sincerity  to  which  she  had  been  long  a  stranger.  Un- 
consciously she  warmed  and  softened  under  the 
homelike  atmosphere.  And  when,  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  later,  Simonetta  came  softly  into  the  bright, 
chintz-hung  bedroom  she  found  her  mistress  busily 
unpacking  her  writing-case  and  sorting  her  letters 
at  an  old-fashioned  oak  writing-table. 

That  night  the  two  visitors,  who  had  preceded  the 
other  members  of  the  house-party  by  a  day,  dined 
alone  with  their  host  and  hostess. 

They  were  a  very  small  party  for  the  great  dining- 
hall ;  but  Clodagh  was  conscious  that  at  many  a 
crowded  restaurant  she  would  have  been  less  well 
amused.  There  was  a  feeling  of  sincerity  in  the 
atmosphere,  an  honest  desire  on  the  part  of  the  en- 
tertainers to  put  their  guest  at  her  ease,  that  pre- 
cluded dulness  and  artificiality. 

After  dinner  Lady  Frances  wandered  off  to  the 
billiard-room  with  her  brother-in-law,  and  Clodagh 
followed  her  hostess  into  the  drawing-room — a  long, 
tapestried  room  full  of  the  scent  of  roses. 

The  lamps  were  lighting  when  they  entered ;  but 
the  windows  were  set  wide  open,  admitting  the  fra- 
grance of  the  garden. 

337 


THE    GAMBLER 

Involuntarily  Clodagli  crossed  the  room  and  paused 
beside  one  of.  these  broad  windows. 

A  moment  later  her  hostess  followed  her. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  she  said.  "What  do  you 
think  of  England  ?  Isn't  it  a  place  to  be  happy  in  ?" 
She  spoke  with  something  of  the  strength  and  domi- 
nation of  her  sister;  but  it  was  a  softened  strength, 
as  her  face,  although  possessing  the  same  bold  out- 
line as  Lady  Frances's,  was  softer,  gentler,  more 
sympathetic. 

Clodagh  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

"I  think  it  is  a  place  to  be  content  in,"  she  said, 
after  a  moment's  pause. 

Lady  Diana  Tuffnell's  glance  rested  upon  her  in- 
terestedly. And  as  the  thought  of  her  youth  and 
her  mourning  rose  to  her  mind  something  like  pity 
touched  her  face. 

"You  are  very  right,"  she  said.  "We  women 
make  a  great  mistake  in  dissociating  happiness  and 
contentment.  There  is  too  much  struggle  in  many 
of  our  lives  and  too  little  peace.  Frances,  for  in- 
stance! Her  life  is  one  restless  race  after  something 
that  is  unattainable!" 

"But  Lady  Frances  is  happy!  She  likes  strug- 
gling!" 

Lady  Diana  smiled. 

"She  thinks  she  does.  But  the  truly  contented 
woman  does  not  need  to  persuade  herself  that  she  is 
satisfied.  Happiness  is  a  fact,  not  an  attainment." 
With  a  quiet,  kindly  movement  she  turned  aside  and 
picked  up  two  photographs  that  stood  upon  a  side- 
table. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke,  this  is  the  happiness  that  comes 
— and  stays — the  happiness  that  needs  no  expound- 
ing."    She  held  out  the  photographs. 

338 


THE    GAMBLHR 

Clodagh  took  them  and  looked  at  them.  One  was 
the  picture  of  her  host;  the  other  the  photogra])h  of 
three  ])lain-lookins,  honest-eyed  boys,  who  each  pos- 
sessed in  an  ahiiost  ridiculous  degree  their  mf)ther's 
outline  of  feature.  She  looked  at  them  intently  for 
a  long  time;  then  she  handed  them  back. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  almost  inaudibly.  Then 
moved  by  a  sudden  thought,  she  looked  up  into 
Lady  Diana's  face. 

"Lady  Diana,"  she  said,  "I  want  you  to  like  my 
little  sister!  Will  you  like  her?  I  don't  want  her 
to  be  one  of  the  struggling  women — "  Then  she 
paused  suddenly,  as  the  drawing-room  door  opened 
and  Lady  Frances  Hope  entered,  followed  by  her 
brother-in-law. 

At  the  sound  of  the  opening  door  Lady  Diana 
gave  her  a  quick  smile  of  sympathy  and  understand- 
ing, and  turned  to  greet  the  new-comers. 

"What,  Frances!"  she  exclaimed,  laughingly,  as 
she  caught  sight  of  her  sister's  face.  "Has  George 
been  beating  you?" 

Lady  Frances  came  forward  frowning. 

"How  ridiculous  you  arc,  Di!  Your  mind  never 
soars  above  George."  Tlicn  realizing  that  her  an- 
noyance had  carried  her  away,  she  gave  a  short  laugh, 
and  suddenly  recovered  her  composure. 

"  I  am  angry  because  our  game  was  spoiled.  I  was 
making  a  really  excellent  break,  when  wc  were  in- 
terrupted by  a  stupid  telegram  from  Walter  Gore." 

Almost  abruptly  Clodagh  turned  liack  to  the  open 
window,  conscious  that  her  face  and  ears  were  sud- 
denly burning  and  that  her  heart  had  given  a  great, 
unsteady  throb. 

Lady  Diana  looked  (]ui(kly  from  her  sister  to  her 
husband. 

.339 


THE    GAMBLER 

"From  Walter?"  she  said,  in  surprise. 
"  Yes,  from  Walter."    George  Tuffnell  came  forward 
with  an  open  telegram  in  his  hand.      "Listen  to  this! 

"  '  Back  from  Russia.  Town  insufferably  hot.  Gore  bridges 
in  tradesmen's  hands.  No  plans  for  immediate  week.  Can 
you  put  me  up  from  to-morrow  ?  Walter  Gore.' 

"  Luck,  isn't  it?  Why,  we  haven't  seen  him  for  a 
year.  Dear  old  Walter!"  Tuffnell's  good-natured 
face  beamed  with  hospitable  enthusiasm. 

"What  do  you  say,  Di?"  he  added.  "Of  course 
we  can  manage  it?" 

"Of  course!  Why,  it  will  make  our  party  com- 
plete." Lady  Diana  glanced  at  her  sister;  but  to 
her  surprise  there  was  no  response  in  Lady  Frances's 
expression. 

With  a  movement  of  sudden  decision  she  had 
stepped  forward. 

"Di,  wait  a  moment!"  she  said.  "You  know 
Walter  and  Val  Serracauld  never  hit  it  off  —  and 
Walter  and  Deerehurst  detest  each  other.  Do  you 
think  it  would  be  wise?" 

Lady  Diana  looked  perplexed.     "  It  is  a  little  diffi- 
cult,"  she  said.     "But  we  cannot  refuse   Walter.' 
She  looked  at  her  husband. 

George  Tuffnell  responded  with  a  laugh. 

"Refuse  Walter!  Why,  I'd  as  soon  refuse  to  have 
the  boys  home  for  the  holidays!  The  house  is  big 
enough  for  everybody.  What  do  you  say,  Mrs. 
Milbanke?" 

Clodagh  turned  from  the  open  window.  From  being 
red  her  face  was  now  very  pale. 

"I—"  she  stammered.      "I—?" 

Again  Tuffnell  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"Certainly.     Don't  you  think,  Di,  that  Mrs.  MiJ- 

340 


THE    GAMBLER 

banke  could  give  us  an  expert  opinion  on  the  man- 
agement of  man?" 

Clodagh  laughed  unsteadily.  Then,  all  at  once, 
her  mental  balance  was  shaken  by  a  wave  of  fechng. 
The  thought  of  Gore — the  remembrance  of  Gore — 
rose  like  tangible  things,  blotting  out  all  else.  She 
lifted  her  eyes  to  her  host's. 

"I  agree  with  you,"  she  swiftly  said.  "I  should 
say  that — that  the  house  is  big  enough." 


XXXV 

THE  remaining  hours  of  that  night  passed  Hke  a 
dream  for  Clodagh.  Condemn  herscli  as  she 
might  for  the  weakness,  there  was  no  subduing  the 
tumultuous  excitement  kindled  by  the  thought  that 
she  was  to  see  Gore  again. 

It  was  not  to  be  denied  that  time,  intervening  in- 
cidents, and  a  sub-conscious  personal  desire  had 
blunted  the  first  resentment  that  Lady  Frances 
Hope's  disclosures  had  engendered.  In  the  reckless 
pursuit  of  excitement  that  had  marked  the  past 
three  months  she  had  imagined  him  banished  from 
her  mind;  but  now,  at  the  knowledge  of  his  promised 
advent,  she  reahzed  that  it  had  only  been  an  im- 
agination; that,  despite  everything,  his  place  in  her 
mind  had  never  been  usurped. 

When  at  last  she  fell  asleep,  long  after  midnight, 
her  dreams  were  strange,  exciting,  almost  happy; 
and  when  next  morning  the  entrance  of  Simonetta 
roused  her  to  consciousness,  it  was  with  something 
like  hopefulness  and  anticipation  that  she  turned  her 
eyes  to  the  open  window,  through  which  the  clear 
country  sunlight  was  breaking  between  the  gay  chintz 
curtains. 

With  a  quick,  eager  wakefulness  she  sat  up  in  bed 
and  pushed  back  her  loosened  hair.  A  feeling,  long 
forgotten,  was  stirring  in  her  heart— the  vague, 
delicious  hope  of  future  things  that  had  been  wont 

342 


THE    GAMBLER 

to  111  rill  her  Ioit^  aj^'o,  when  she  rode  her  father's 
horses  alon^;  the  strand  at  Orristown  in  the  untar- 
nished dawn  of  an  Irisli  day. 

During  the  process  of  dressing,  this  sense  of  an- 
ticipation grew,  and  with  it  came  a  spontaneous  wish 
for  action.  She  became  imbued  with  the  same  de- 
sire for  Hght  and  air  and  freedom  that  had  possessed 
her  on  the  day  in  Florence  when  she  had  gazed  out 
upon  the  distant  hills  from  the  window  of  the  villa. 

Something  of  her  eager  energy  was  shining  in  her 
eyes  as  she  descended  the  stairs  and  entered  the 
sunny  morning-room,  where  breakfast  was  always 
served  when  the  i:)arty  at  Tuflfnell  was  small. 

Lady  Diana  and  her  husband  were  already  in  the 
room,  glancing  through  their  morning  letters,  the 
former  wearing  a  plain  linen  dress,  the  latter  an  old 
shooting -suit  that  had  seen  much  service.  At  the 
moment  that  she  opened  the  door  Lady  Diana  was 
reading  aloud  from  the  letter  in  her  hand,  while 
George  Tuffncll  was  laughing  with  enormous  amuse- 
ment. They  made  a  very  homely,  pleasant  picture 
of  contented,  successful  married  life. 

Seeing  their  guest,  they  both  came  forward  cord- 
ially, and  George  Tuffnell  smiled  warm-heartedly  as 
he  took  her  hand. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Milbanke.  and  what  is  Tuffnell  like 
in  dayhght?  Isn't  it  worth  a  hundred  Londons? 
Haven't  you  got  an  appetite  for  breakfast?" 

Lady  Diana  laughed  as  she  led  Clodagh  to  the 
table. 

"George  is  a  horrible  egoist,"  she  said,  cheerfully. 
"He  thinks  the  only  things  in  the  world  worthy  of 
consideration   are  Tuffnell — and   the  Tuffnells." 

Clodagh  smiled  as  she  took  her  scat. 

"  He  is  very  much  justified,"  she  said,  softly.   Then 

343 


THE    GAMBLER 

she  glanced   round   the  table.      "  But  where's   Lady 
Frances?" 

Her  hostess  smiled. 

"Breakfasting  in  bed.  I  knocked  at  her  door  at 
seven  to  ask  whether  she  would  care  for  a  canter  be- 
fore breakfast,  or  whether  she  would  like  to  walk 
over  to  the  home  farm  with  George,  but  she  literally 
drove  me  away.  She's  out  of  sorts  to-day.  Poor 
Frances!" 

"Oh,  I  am  sorry!"  Clodagh  looked  distressed. 
"Just  to-day,  when  everybody's  coming!" 

George  Tuffnell  turned  to  her  with  his  habitual 
bluff  kindliness. 

"Don't  trouble,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  he  said.  "She'll 
be  all  right  by  the  afternoon.  It's  the  mornings  that 
society  plays  the  deuce  with.  Look  at  Di!  Look 
what  a  country  life  has  done  for  her!" 

Clodagh  looked  almost  shyly  at  her  hostess's 
straight  shoulders  and  healthy,  happy  face. 

"Don't  make  me  more  envious  than  I  am,"  she 
said,  gently.     "Lady  Diana  has  everything." 

With  a  sympathetic  gesture  Lady  Diana  extended 
her  hand  and  touched  hers  lightly. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  "you  have  no  reason  to  re- 
pine. And  Tuffnell  is  to  bring  you  enjoyment,  not 
regret.  What  amusement  can  we  plan  for  the  morn- 
ing, George?" 

George  Tuffnell  looked  up  from  the  omelet  to  which 
he  was  helping  himself. 

"  What  would  Mrs.  Milbanke  like  ?  You  may  do 
anything  you  like  here,  Mrs.  Milbanke — except  be 
unhappy." 

Clodagh  smiled  brightly. 

"Anything?" 

"Anything — in  wisdom." 

344 


THE    GAMBLER 

She  hesitated  for  a  moment,  looking  down  at  her 
plate;  then,  with  a  quick,  winning  movement,  she 
lifted  her  head,  glancing  from  one  of  her  entertainers 
to  the  other. 

"Then  give  me  a  horse,"  she  said,  quickly,  "and 
let  me  ride  by  myself  till  lunch-time." 

Lady  Diana  looked  distressed. 

"What — alone?"  she  asked. 

But  her  husband  laughed  cheerily. 

"  Why  not — if  she  wishes  ?  Tuffnell  is  Liberty 
Hall,  Mrs.  Milbanke.  You  shall  have  the  best  horse 
in  the  stables." 

Lady  Diana  smiled  indulgently. 

"I  hope  we  are  doing  right!  Four  hours  by  one's 
self  in  the  saddle  is  rather  a  lonely  thing." 

"Oh,  but  I  won't  be  alone!"  Clodagh  cried.  "A 
good  horse  is  the  best  company  in  the  world." 

At  the  conclusion  of  breakfast  she  rose  to  go  up- 
stairs and  change  into  her  habit.  As  she  passed  her 
hostess  she  paused. 

"Shall  I  run  in  and  see  Lady  Frances?"  she  asked. 

Lady  Diana  looked  up  at  her. 

"I  think  not.  Frances  called  through  the  door 
this  morning  that  no  one  was  to  go  near  her  before 
twelve  o'clock.     I'd  wait  till  then,  if  I  were  you." 

And  Clodagh  nodded  comprehendingly  and  left  the 
room. 

Half  an  hour  later  she  rode  down  a  long  avenue 
of  chestnuts,  mounted  on  a  splendid  bay  horse  of 
Lady  Diana's,  and  emerged  upon  the  road  that 
skirted  the  park  wall. 

Tuffnell  Place  was  situated  in  one  of  the  richest 
corners  of  Buckinghamshire;  and  as  she  drew  rein 
for  a  moment  outside  the  large  gates,  and  surveyed 
the  surrounding  country,  it  seemed  to  her  that,  as 

345 


THE    GAMBLER 

far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the  land  stretched  away 
in  one  great  tract  of  prosperous,  well-tilled  fields  and 
sweeping  meadow-land,  broken  by  high  hedges  and 
low,  wooded  hills. 

The  day  was  one  to  revel  in ;  the  scene  one  to  bring 
complete  repose.  And  as  she  gathered  up  her  reins, 
and  allowed  the  bay  horse  to  sweep  down  the  gently 
sloping  road  into  this  land  of  plenty,  she  permitted 
the  atmosphere  to  take  full  possession  of  her.  For 
the  moment  the  thought  of  London,  of  her  fellow- 
beings,  even  of  herself,  fell  away  from  her  conscious 
consideration,  and  she  dreamed — as  an  Irishwoman 
can  always  dream  —  with  her  eyes  open  and  her 
senses  alert  to  her  horse's  slightest  movement,  yet 
wrapped  in  a  world  of  her  own,  created  from  the 
warm  blue  haze  of  summer  that  lay  over  the  rich 
country — from  the  summer  sun  that  warmed  her 
blood  —  from  the  close,  instinctive  comprehension 
of  nature  that  no  artificiality  has  power  to  erad- 
icate. 

It  was  more  than  three  hours  later  when  she  rode 
back  to  the  gates  of  Tuffnell,  having  covered  many 
miles  of  country  and  revelled  for  a  long,  delicious 
stretch  of  time  in  her  own  musings.  The  air  and  the 
hot  sun  had  warmed  her  face  to  a  splendid,  healthy 
color,  her  li[)S  were  parted  eagerly,  and  across  her 
saddle  she  was  carrying  a  sjjray  of  honeysuckle 
plucked  from  the  tall  hcdgerovv^s.  Her  mood  was 
generous,  pliable,  brimming  with  high  impulses;  if,  in 
that  moment,  one  loving  hand  had  been  stretched 
forth  to  hers,  one  honest  soul  come  out  of  the  sun- 
light to  meet  her  own,  many  things  might  have  been 
different.  But  the  moment  came — and  the  moment 
passed. 

Riding  quickly  up  the  avenue,  she  drew  rein  at  the 

346 


THE    GAMBLER 

hall -door,   and   at  the   same  instant    Lady   Frances 
Hope  crossed  the  wide,  sunny  hall. 

Clodagh  saw  her  at  once,  and  a  shade  of  disap- 
pointment touched  her  face.  Lady  Frances  was  so 
intensely  suggestive  of  the  world  she  had  been  trying 
to  forge.  Her  impulses  of  a  minute  ago  shrank  in- 
stinctively; the  habit  of  indiflference  came  back  to 
her  by  suggestion.  She  suddenly  felt  ashamed  of 
her  sunburned  face  and  of  the  spray  of  honeysuckle. 

But  Lady  Frances  came  forward  to  the  hall-door, 
and  at  the  same  moment  a  groom  hurried  round  from 
the  stables. 

Clodagh  slipped  easily  from  her  horse,  took  her 
flowers  from  the  saddle,  and  then  turned  to  greet  her 
friend. 

"  How  are  you  ?"  she  said.  "  I  was  so  sorry  not  to 
have  seen  you  this  morning.  I  have  had  a  glorious 
ride." 

Lady  Frances  did  not  respond  to  the  words  with 
her  habitual  smile.  And  on  closer  scrutiny  Clodagh 
observed  that,  despite  a  very  careful  toilet,  she  looked 
tired  and  annoyed. 

"You've  been  away  an  age!"  she  said,  irritably. 
"It's  after  twelve!" 

"Then  perhaps  I'd  better  change!  The  coach  is 
to  be  back  from  the  station  at  half- past  twelve." 

"No.  Never  mind!  Diana  isn't  conventional. 
You  can  meet  the  people — and  lunch  too — in  your 
habit.     I  want  to  talk  to  vou." 

Clodagh's  eyes  opened.  It  was  new  to  find  Lady 
Frances's  manner  either  hastv  or  perturbed. 

"To  me?     What  about?" 

The  other  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  looked 
straight  at  her  companion. 

"About  Walter  Gore." 

347 


THE    GAMBLER 

The  onslaught  was  so  sudden  that  Clodagh  had  no 
time  to  guard  her  feehngs.  She  flushed — a  deep, 
painful  flush  that  spread  over  her  cheeks,  her  ears, 
her  forehead. 

Lady  Frances  looked  at  her  mercilessly. 

"I  have  been  worrying  so  about  his  coming — 
worrying  so  about  you." 

"About  me?" 

Clodagh  said  the  words  consciously  and  uncom- 
fortably. 

"Yes.  I  feel  so  much  for  you — you,  who  are  so 
sensitive.  Clodagh!"  She  laid  her  fingers  lightly 
on  Clodagh's  arm.  "Clodagh!  I  am  your  best 
friend.     You  believe  that?" 

"You — you  have  always  been  very  good  to  me." 

"And  always  shall  be  good  to  you.  Look  here!" 
Her  voice  suddenly  took  on  the  tone  of  seeming 
frankness  that  is  the  clever  woman's  best  weapon. 
"I'm  enormously  fond  of  you — enormously  fond  of 
you.     I  should  hate  to  see  you  hurt  or — or — " 

She  paused  judiciously. 

"  But  who  would  hurt  me  ?   Why  should  I  be  hurt  ?" 

"You  shouldn't  be,  of  course.  But  sometimes 
circumstances- — chances — people — hurt  one.  Oh,  my 
dear  girl,  I'm  unhappy  at  this  unlucky  coming  of 
Walter's.     It's  hard — it's  really  hard — on  you." 

As  the  words  were  uttered  it  seemed  to  Clodagh 
that  a  faint,  cold  wind  blew  from  some  unseen  quar- 
ter, chilling  the  summer  warmth — chilling  her  own 
happiness. 

"Why — why  hard  on  me?"  she  asked. 

"Dear  child!"  Lady  Frances's  tone  was  deep  and 
kind.  "Do  you  remember  the  night  in  town  when 
you  asked  me  to  take  you  to  the  Tamperleighs' 
party?" 

348 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Yes.     I  remember." 

"You  remember  why  I  refused?" 

"Yes,  I  remember." 

"  But  you  did  not  know  my  full  reason  for  refusing. 
I  had  met  Walter  a  day  or  two  before.  We  had  dis- 
cussed you." 

"And  what  had  Sir  Walter  Gore  to  say  of 
me?" 

"He  said — oh,  dear  child,  don't  ask  me  to  be  too 
literal." 

"But  I  do."     Clodagh  freed  her  arm. 

"  Is  it  worth  while  ?  I  tried  to  keep  you  two  apart 
while  I  could.  Now  that  it  has  become  impos- 
sible—" 

"But  why  should  we  be  kept  apart?  What  have 
I  done?" 

"Dear  Clodagh!  You  know  Walter — you  know 
how  entirely  he  disapproves — " 

"Disapproves!  Disapproves!  What  right  has  Sir 
Walter  Gore  to  disapprove  of  me  ?  To  criticise  me — 
to  speak  of  me?"  Her  voice  shook,  not  —  as  she 
herself  imagined — with  outraged  pride,  but  with  un- 
controllable disappointment  and  pain.  "Oh,  I  re- 
sent it!"  she  cried.     "I  resent  it!" 

Then  suddenly  she  paused,  turning  to  her  com- 
panion with  an  almost  frightened  gesture.  Up  the 
long  avenue  came  the  sound  of  wheels  and  the  rapid 
clatter  of  many  hoofs. 

Lady  Frances  put  out  her  hand  again  and  touched 
Clodagh's  wrist. 

"Here  they  are,"  she  said.  "I  am  glad  to  see 
your  courage.     I  admire  it." 

As  she  had  intended,  the  sharp,  concise  words 
braced  her  companion.  She  stood  for  an  instant 
longer  in  an  attitude  of  nervous  panic;  then  sudden- 

349 


THE    GAMBLER 

ly  she  threw  up  her  head  with  a  touch  of  the  boyish 
spirit  that  had  marked  her  long  ago. 

"I — I  am  not  a  coward,  Lady  Frances!"  she  said. 

Side  by  side  they  waited,  while  the  big,  yellow 
coach,  piloted  by  George  Tuffnell,  swung  round  the 
bend  of  the  drive.  And  as  Clodagh  stood  there, 
watching  the  great  vehicle  sweep  round  to  the  hall- 
door,  her  face  became  pale  and  her  fingers  closed 
tightly  round  the  handle  of  her  riding-crop.  It  was 
her  world  —  her  world  in  miniature  —  that  swayed 
towards  her  while  she  impotently  waited  its  ap- 
proach. 

On  the  box,  beside  George  Tuffnell,  sat  Mrs.  Bath- 
urst,  radiant  in  summer  garments;  behind  were 
Deerehurst,  Serracauld,  Gore,  and  a  middle-aged  man 
who  was  unknown  to  her.  As  her  eye  passed  from 
one  face  to  another,  Tuffnell  drew  the  horses  up  with 
great  dexterity,  the  servants  sprang  to  tke  ground, 
and  Lady  Diana  came  hospitably  forward  from  the 
recesses  of  the  hall. 

The  first  guest  to  descend  from  the  coach  was 
Serracauld.  Reaching  the  ground,  he  paused  for  a 
second  to  brush  some  dust  from  his  light  flannel  suit ; 
then  he  came  forward  to  his  hostess. 

"  Howd'  you  do.  Lady  Diana! — and  Lady  Frances!" 

He  shook  hands  with  both;  then  he  turned  to 
Clodagh  with  rather  more  impressiveness. 

"How  tremendously  fit  you  look!"  he  said. 

Before  she  could  answer,  Deerehurst  joined  them, 
calmly  taking  her  hand  as  though  it  were  his  right. 

"Well— Circe!"  he  said,  below  his  breath.  "We 
have  followed." 

Clodagh  turned  her  eyes  hastily,  almost  nervously, 
from  Serracauld's  attentive  face  to  the  cold  features 
of  the  older  man. 

350 


THE    GAMBLER 

"  I^I  should  feel  very  (lattcred,"  she  said,  lightly. 

Ilcr  eyes  were  on  Deerchurst's,  her  hand  was  in 
his,  but  her  mind  was  poignantly  conscious  of  Gore's 
figure  standing  close  behind  her,  of  Gore's  voice  ex- 
changing greetings  with  Lady  Diana  TufTnell. 

A  moment  later  she  knew  that  he  had  turned  and 
had  seen  the  tableau  made  by  the  old  peer,  Scrra- 
cauld,  and  herself. 

"  How  d'  you  do,  Mrs.  Milbanke  ?  It  is  a  long  time 
since  we  have  met." 

It  was  not  until  he  had  directly  addressed  her,  not 
until  she  had  turned  and  met  his  glance,  that  Clo- 
dagli  realized  how  deeply,  how  peculiarly  he  had  in- 
fluenced her.  She  drew  her  fingers  sharply  from 
Deerchurst's. 

"It  is  a  long  time,"  she  said,  very  softly. 

Gore  took  her  hand. 

At  the  same  moment  Deerehurst  laughed  —  his 
laugh  of  unfathomable,  cynical  wisdom. 

"Mrs.  Milbanke  was  the  chrysalis  in  those  old  days, 
Gore,"  he  said,  lightly.     "  Now  you  see  the  butterfly  I" 

At  the  laugh  and  the  tone  Gore's  expression  be- 
came cold,  and  he  released  Clodagh's  hand. 

"So  I  have  l)een  told,"  he  said,  a  little  stiffly.  "I 
must  congratulate  Mrs.  Milbanke  on  her  develop- 
ment." He  gave  a  slightly  constrained  laugh  and 
moved  back  to  Lady  Diana's  side. 

Deerehurst  looked  after  him — a  malicious,  humor- 
ous look. 

"Isn't  it  too  lenient  of  the  prettiest  lady  in  London 
to  allow  a  young  ])uritan  to  take  her  to  task  in  jmb- 
lic?"  he  asked,  in  his  satirical  voice. 

Clodagh  flushed,  and,  turning  as  if  to  answer,  let 
the  spray  of  honeysuckle  slip  inadvertently  from  be- 
tween her  fingers. 

351 


THE    GAMBLER 

Instantly  both  Deerehurst  and  Serracauld  stooped 
to  recover  it.  The  younger  man  was  successful,  and, 
straightening  himself  quickly,  wheeled  round  to  re- 
turn it.  Then  his  face  fell,  and  again  Deerehurst 
laughed. 

Without  a  word  Clodagh  had  left  the  little  group 
and  disappeared  into  the  house. 


XXXVI 

AT  lunch-time  Clodagh  sent  word  to  Lady  Diana 
I  Tullnell  that  the  long  ride  in  the  morning  sun 
had  given  her  a  headache,  and  that  she  would  be 
glad  of  a  few  hours'  rest. 

On  receipt  of  the  message  her  hostess  was  much 
concerned,  and  came  herself  to  Clodagh's  bedroom 
door  to  inquire  whether  she  could  be  of  any  use  to 
the  sufferer;  but  there  she  was  met  by  Simonetta, 
who  conveyed  the  intelligence  that  her  mistress  was 
asleep. 

But  in  reality  Clodagh  was  not  sleeping — was  not 
even  lying  down ;  she  was  sitting  in  a  low  chair  in  the 
shadow  of  the  drawn  chintz  curtains,  striving  to  solve 
the  question  of  her  future  conduct.  Would  she  re- 
main at  Tuffnell  and  face  the  difficulties  of  her  posi- 
tion ?     Would  she  turn  coward — and  run  away  ? 

She  passed  in  review  the  incidents  of  the  morning, 
until,  by  persistent  contemplation  of  them,  her 
humiliation  kindled  to  anger.  First,  anger  against 
herself;  then,  anger  against  the  world  at  large;  lastly, 
anger  against  Gore. 

By  the  time  afternoon  tea  was  brought  to  her  the 
headache  she  had  feigned  had  become  a  reality,  and 
before  dinner-time  arrived  she  had  fallen  into  a  state 
of  miserable  despondency.  But  scarcely  had  this 
black  mood  taken  possession  of  her  than  a  new  and 
more  intolerable  distress  assailed  her.  She  suddenly 
»3  353 


THE    GAMBLER 

realized  the  gossip  to  which  her  abrupt  retirement 
might  give  rise.  What  would  the  house-party  think 
of  her  disappearance  ?  Wotild  not  Lady  Frances 
Hope — if  no  one  else — presume  that  she  was  suffer- 
ing from  wounded  vanity  ?  The  thought  was  unen- 
durable. No  sooner  did  it  present  itself  than  she 
sprang  from  her  chair  in  a  fever  of  apprehension  and 
rang  hastily  for  Simonetta. 

Ten  minutes  before  the  dinner-hour  she  emerged 
from  her  room  and  passed  down-stairs.  Faint  day- 
light was  still  filling  the  house;  but  everywhere  the 
lamps  had  been  lighted,  and  the  mellow  double  il- 
lumination gave  a  curious  softening  effect  to  the  old 
raftered  ceilings  and  panelled  walls. 

In  the  hall  she  was  met  by  Lady  Frances  Hope, 
who  paused  and  looked  at  her  scrutinizingly. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you?"  she  asked,  with 
unusual  brusqueness.  "You  almost  look  as  if  you 
had  a  fever.     Your  eyes  are  glittering." 

Clodagh  laughed  nervously  and  put  one  hand  to 
her  cheek. 

"Nothing  is  the  matter." 

Lady  Frances's  lip  curled  slightly. 

"You  should  go  to  bed  early." 

"Yes.  Early  in  the  morning!  I  feel  I  could  sit 
up  all  night." 

"Playing  bridge?" 

Again  Clodagh  laughed,  this  time  a  little  reck- 
lessly. 

"Why  not?"  she  asked.  "Won't  you  play  to- 
night?"' 

"Not  here.  George  is  rather  a  stickler — where  his 
relations  are  concerned." 

"And  his  guests?" 

Clodagh's  question  was  quick  and  a  little  anxious. 

354 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Oh,  his  guests  can  amuse  themselves  as  they  hke, 
of  course." 

"Then  1  shall  play  to-night — if  I  can  find  any  one 
to  play  with." 

Lady  Frances  looked  over  her  shoulder,  attracted 
by  the  sound  of  voices. 

"Well,  here  come's  Rose!"  she  said.  "Press  her 
into  your  service!  She  won't  refuse,  if  you  give  her 
Mr.  Mansfeldt  as  a  partner.  The  set  she  has  made 
on  that  man  the  whole  afternoon  is  perfectly  dis- 
graceful." 

She  turned  with  a  smile  to  Mrs.  Bathurst. 

"Ah,  Rose!  How  nice  to  see  you!  And  you  are 
just  in  time.  Wc  have  been  taking  your  name  in 
vain." 

Clodjigh  became  the  centre  of  a  noisy  party  until 
dinner  was  announced.  And  duri  ig  the  meal  itself 
the  same  air  of  inconsequent  gaycty  was  maintained 
in  her  regard,  for  she  sat  between  Serracauld  and 
his  uncle. 

A  dozen  topics  were  touched  upon  during  the 
course  of  the  meal — the  latest  sporting  gossip,  the 
latest  social  scandal,  the  latest  Parisian  play,  all 
were  discussed,  and  all  laughed  over  the  triviality  of 
the  world  that  has  few  prejudices,  few  responsibilities, 
fewer  ideals. 

From  time  to  time,  during  the  easy  flow  of  this 
light  talk,  she  found  herself  stealing  surreptitious 
glances  down  the  long  table  to  where  Gore  was  seated 
between  Lady  Diana  TufTnell  and  her  sister;  but  not 
once  did  she  surprise  a  glance  from  hi'.n.  It  sccmc  I 
that  he  had  very  successfully  banished  her  from  his 
mind. 

After  dinner  the  whole  party  left  the  dining-room 

355 


THE    GAMBLER 

together,  as  was  the  custom  at  Tuffnell,  some  to  play 
bilhards,  some  to  stroll  in  the  gardens,  others  to  find 
their  way  to  the  music-room,  where  Lady  Diana 
usually  gathered  a  little  audience  to  listen  to  her  sing- 
ing. On  this  evening  Clodagh  was  among  the  first 
to  pass  out  of  the  dining-room,  and,  moving  into  the 
centre  of  the  hall,  she  paused  and  looked  expectantly 
over  her  shoulder. 

As  she  had  anticipated,  Deerehurst  appeared  al- 
most at  once  and  came  directly  to  her  side. 

"What  is  your  pleasure.?"  he  said.      "Bridge?" 

She  looked  up  swiftly. 

"Yes,  bridge,"  she  said,  quickly.  "I  feel  I  must 
have  excitement  to-night." 

He  looked  at  her  immovably. 

"As  you  wish,"  he  said,  calmly.  "I  shall  ask 
Rose  Bathurst  and  Mansfeldt  to  play." 

He  turned  awa z^,  and  at  the  same  moment  Lady 
Diana  came  forward  from  a  little  group  that  included 
her  husband  and  Gore.  Coming  close  to  Clodagh, 
she  laid  her  hand  kindly  on  her  arm. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Milbanke,"  she  said,  pleasantly,  "how 
shall  we  amuse  you  this  evening." 

Clodagh  turned  swiftly.  Her  nerves  felt  so  tense 
and  strained  that  even  her  hostess's  quiet  voice  set 
them  tingling. 

"Oh,  I  have  chosen  my  amusement,"  she  said. 
"I  want  a  game  of  bridge,  and  Lord  Deerehurst  has 
gone  to  make  up  a  four." 

Lady  Diana's  expression  changed,  betraying  a 
leaven  of  disappointment. 

"Bridge?"  she  repeated.  "Do  you  think  you  are 
quite  wise?     Remember  your  headache!" 

Clodagh  gave  a  short,  excited  laugh. 

"Ah,   you  are  not  a  bridge-player.   Lady   Diana! 

356 


THE    GAMBLER 

If  you  were,  you  would  know  that  bridge  is  a  cure 
for  all  the  ills  of  humanity.  Here  comes  Lord  Deere- 
hurst  with  two  accomplices!  Fancy,  it  is  the  first 
time  I  have  met  the  rich  Mr.  Mansfeldt!" 

Lady  Diana  was  silent.  She  looked  once  more  at 
Clodagh — a  rapid,  penetrating  look  that  might  have 
belonged  to  her  sister.  Then  she  compelled  herself 
to  smile. 

"  I  hope  your  game  will  be  a  good  one,"  she  said, 
graciously,  and,  moving  quietly  away,  she  rejoined 
her  husband. 

Almost  at  the  same  moment  Deerehurst  approach- 
ed, followed  at  some  little  distance  by  Mrs.  Bathurst 
and  Mansfeldt — a  South  African  millionaire  who  had 
recently  found  his  way  into  society. 

"Rose  is  making  the  running,"  he  remarked,  in  a 
maliciously  amused  whisper.  "  She  asked  me  before 
dinner  exactly  what  Mansfeldt  is  worth.  Ah,  here 
you  are,  Mansfeldt!"  he  added,  aloud.  "Allow  me 
to  present  you  to  Mrs.  Milbanke.  Mrs.  Milbanke, 
will  you  show  us  the  way  to  the  card-room  ?  I  hear 
you  are  the  spoiled  child  of  the  house." 

Clodagh  bowed  to  Mansfeldt,  and,  responding  at 
once  to  Deerehurst's  suggestion,  led  the  way  across 
the  hall. 

The  card  -  room  at  Tuffnell  was  the  only  room  in 
the  big,  rambling  house  that  had  not  preserved  an 
air  of  Old-World  repose ;  here  alone  the  artistic  deco- 
rator had  been  allowed  to  encroach  upon  the  handi- 
work of  time;  and  the  result,  although  comfortable 
and  even  luxurious,  was  modern  and  slightly  bizarre. 
An  Oriental  carpet,  a  few  divans  and  coffee  stools, 
half  a  dozen  chairs,  and  three  or  four  baize-covered 
tables  comprised  the  somewhat  conventional  furni- 
ture; while  the  walls  were  covered  in  fabric  of  bright 

357 


THE     GAMBLER 

scarlet  and  decorated  with  a  peculiar  and  extrava- 
gant frieze  representing  the  hfty-two  cards  of  the 
pack.  As  Clodagh  entered,  an  irrepressible  recol- 
lection of  London  —  of  the  clubs,  the  card  -  rooms, 
the  smoking-rooms  of  London — where  men  and  wom- 
en idle  away  their  lives  and  their  money,  rose  to 
her  mind,  banishing  the  pictures  of  country  peace 
that  the  last  twelve  hours  had  conjured. 

Pausing  by  one  of  the  tables,  she  looked  back  at  her 
three  companions. 

"Let's  cut  for  partners!"  she  cried,  quickly,  pick- 
ing up  an  unused  pack  of  cards.  "See!  I've  cut  a 
ten!" 

Mrs.  Bathurst  came  languidly  forward  and  raised 
a  portion  of  the  pack. 

"A  three!"  she  said.  "Now  Mr.  Mansfeldt,  and 
Lord  Deerehurst!"  She  looked  with  graceful  inter- 
est towards  the  men. 

Deerehurst  cut  a  four;  then  the  millionaire  fol- 
lowed with  a  two. 

Mrs.  Bathurst's  face  flushed  with  pleasure. 

"How  strange!"  she  murmured.  "Do  you  mind 
having  a  very  stupid  partner,  Mr.  Mansfeldt?"  Her 
large  brown  eyes  rested  on  the  rich  man's  face,  exact- 
ly as  they  had  rested  upon  Deerehurst's  in  the  days 
at  Venice. 

Observing  and  comprehending  this  by  the  light  of 
recent  knowledge,  Clodagh  gave  a  sharp,  amused  laugh. 

"I  think  every  one  is  satisfied.  Rose,"  she  said. 
"  Now,  about  points !    Lord  Deerehurst,  what  points  ?" 

Deerehurst  bowed   complacently. 

"What  you  like,  partner.  Our  usual  forty  shil- 
lings a  hundred  ?" 

"Or  twenty  shillings  a  hundred?"  suggested  Mrs. 
Bathurst,  with  a  deprecating  smile  at  Mansfeldt. 

358^ 


THE    GAMBLER 

Again  Clodagh  lauglictl. 

"  You  arc  getting  very  nKjdcst,  Rose.  Do  you 
remember  the  last  time  we  were  opponents  at  bridge? 
But  I  won't  tell  tales  out  of  school." 

Mrs.  Bathurst  looked  annoyed. 

"Would  it  be  quite  wise?"  she  asked,  sharply. 

But  Deerehurst  intervened. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "shall  we  decide  on  forty-shilling 
points?     Mr.  Mansfeldt,  do  you  agree?" 

Mansfeldt,  who  was  an  intensely  reserved  and 
silent  man,  looked  up  unemotionally. 

"I  am  in  your  hands,"  he  said;  and,  following  the 
example  already  set  by  Clodagh  and  Mrs.  Bathurst, 
he  seated  himself  at  the  card-table. 

"Very  well.  Forty  -  shilling  points."  Deerehurst 
also  seated  himself  and  began  to  collect  the  scat- 
tered cards. 

But  with  a  swift  gesture  Clodagh  leaned  across  the 
table  and  placed  a  detaining  hand  over  his. 

"  Wait!"  she  said.  "Let's  make  it  eighty  shillings 
a  hundred!" 

Deerehurst  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  the  million- 
aire glanced  at  her  curiously,  while  Mrs.  Bathurst 
made  a  little  affected  exclamation  of  dismay. 

"Clodagh,  I  couldn't!     I'm  horribly  hard  up!" 

Once  again  Clodagh  laughed  shortly. 

"Then  trust  to  luck!  You're  more  lucky  than  I 
am."  Her  voice  was  high  and  charged  with  excite- 
ment; her  eyes  looked  hard  and  very  bright. 

Deerehurst's  cold  glance  rested  for  a  moment  on 
her  face. 

"You  really  want  excitement  to-night?"  he  asked, 
in  a  low  voice. 

She  threw  up  her  head  with  a  reckless  move- 
ment. 

359 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Yes;  I  do  want  excitement.  Rose,  will  you  agree 
to  eighty -shilling  points?" 

Mrs.  Bathurst  allowed  her  gaze  to  flutter  prettily 
from  one  face  to  another,  until  it  finally  rested  upon 
Mansfeldt's. 

"Will  you  decide,  partner?"  she  said,  in  a  con- 
fiding whisper. 

Mansfeldt  looked  at  her  for  an  instant  in  slight 
embarrassment;  then  he  appeared  to  regain  his 
stolidity  of  bearing. 

"You  may  play,"  he  said,  decisively;  and  a  faint, 
indescribable  smile  flitted  across  Mrs.  Bathurst's  lips 
as  she  sank  back  into  her  chair. 

It  was  nearly  two  hours  before  the  steady  progress 
of  their  play  was  interrupted  by  any  remark  not 
directly  connected  with  the  game;  then,  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  second  rubber,  Clodagh  looked  across 
at  Deerehurst,  as  if  obeying  a  sudden  impulse. 

"I  bring  you  bad  luck,  partner!"  she  said,  quickly. 

Mrs.  Bathurst  laughed. 

"Unlucky  at  cards,  lucky  in  love!  He  won't  com- 
plain, Clodagh." 

Deerehurst  smiled  calmly. 

"Is  it  well  to  aver  that?"  he  said.  "Look  at  your 
own   score!" 

She  laughed  again — a  laugh  of  complete  satisfaction. 

"Ah,  but  I  owe  that  to  my  partner's  play,  not  to 
luck!  Shall  we  lower  the  points,  Clodagh?  You  are 
a  horrible  loser." 

Clodagh's  hot  cheeks  flushed  a  deeper  red. 

"Lower  the  points!  I  would  rather  raise  them. 
But  aren't  we  losing  time?  Deal,  Mr.  Mansfeldt, 
please!"  Her  excitement  was  obvious.  Her  lips 
were  obstinately  set,  and  her  fingers  tapped  the  table 
in  nervous  impatience. 

360 


THE    GAMBLER 

A  third  rubber  was  begun  and  finished;  then  a 
fourth  and  a  fifth;  and  very  gradually,  as  the  play 
continued,  the  sounds  throughout  the  house  became 
fainter  and  fewer.  At  first  the  tones  of  Lady  Diana's 
voice  had  floated  up  from  the  music-room,  and  the 
usual  hum  of  applause  had  succeeded,  to  be  followed 
in  its  own  turn  by  more  music.  Song  after  song  had 
been  sung;  then  had  come  the  sound  of  talk  and 
laughter,  as  the  party  from  the  music-room  evidently 
adjourned  to  the  garden.  But  slowly  these  sounds 
had  lessened.  The  laughter  had  ceased;  and  the 
entertainment  out-of-doors  had  died  down  to  the 
murmuring  of  two  men's  voices  and  the  slow  pacing 
of  a  couple  of  pairs  of  feet  up  and  down  the  terrace 
beneath  the  card-room  window.  At  last  even  this 
had  ended  with  the  heavy  shutting  of  a  door,  and, 
save  for  the  occasional  distant  sound  of  a  closing 
window,  silence  reigned  in  the  house. 

The  sixth  rubber  was  drawing  to  its  close,  when 
the  door  of  the  card-room  opened  quietly  and  Lady 
Diana  entered,  looking  slightly  tired  and  pale. 

She  came  forward  to  the  table  and  stood  looking 
at  the  players. 

"Don't  stir,"  she  said.  "I  only  came  to  see  that 
you  are  all  right.      Who  has  been  lucky?" 

Mrs.  Bathurst  looked  up  self-confidently. 

"We  have  —  enormously,"  she  said.  "Mrs.  Mil- 
banke  was  most  daring,  and  doubled  our  ordinary 
stakes.     The  results  have  been  wonderful — for  us." 

"Indeed!"  Lady  Diana's  voice  sounded  unusually 
cold,  and  Clodagh  was  conscious  that  her  observant 
eyes  had  turned  upon  her. 

But  she  played  on  without  looking  up. 

At  last  the  final  trick  was  won,  the  score  reckoned 
up,  and  the  players  rose. 

361 


THE    GAMBLER 

Deerehurst  pushed  back  his  chair  and  looked  about 
him  speculatively. 

"It  feels  late!"  he  said.  "What  is  the  time,  Lady 
Diana?     My  conscience  begins  to  trouble  me." 

Lady  Diana  smiled  a  little  conventionally. 

"I  think  it  is  about  half-past  two,"  she  answered. 

"Oh,  Lady  Diana,  how  wicked  of  us!"  Mrs.  Bath- 
urst  affected  a  charming  penitence. 

Mansfeldt  looked  genuinely  uncomfortable  and  dis- 
tressed. 

"We  owe  you  an  apology,"  he  said.  "We  have 
kept  you  from  your  rest." 

But  Lady  Diana  graciously  waived  all  apologies 
aside. 

"It  is  nothing!  Nothing!"  she  assured  them. 
"We  are  not  so  rustic  as  all  that.  Lord  Deerehurst, 
you  and  Mr.  Mansfeldt  will  find  George  in  the  smok- 
ing-room." She  gave  the  suggestion  with  her  usual 
hospitable  warmth;  but  the  smile  that  accompanied 
the  words  was  not  the  smile  she  had  given  to  Clodagh 
the  evening  before — or  that  morning  at  breakfast. 

And  Clodagh,  keenly  sensitive  to  this  altered  bear- 
ing, stood  silent,  offering  no  apology.  At  last,  as 
though  the  tension  of  the  position  compelled  her  to 
action,  she  held  out  her  hand  in  a  half-diffident,  half- 
defiant  gesture. 

"Good -night,  Lady  Diana.  Good -night.  Rose. 
Good-night,  Mr.  Mansfeldt.  Good-night."  Last  of 
all  her  fingers  touched  Deerehurst's,  and  as  his  cold 
hand  closed  over  hers  he  bent  his  head  deferentially. 

"Good -night,  partner.  Sleep  well.  We  will  be 
more  fortunate  in  the  future." 

But  Clodagh  gave  no  sign  that  she  had  even  heard. 
Almost  ungraciously  she  freed  her  hand,  and,  with- 
out glancing  at  any  of  the  occupants  of  the  room, 

362 


THE    GAMBLER 

moved  (|uiL'klv  to  the  door  and  passed  out  into  the 
corridor. 

Her  brain  seemed  to  burn  as  she  mounted  the  long 
flight  of  shallow  stairs  that  led  to  the  bedrooms;  her 
head  ached;  her  senses  felt  confused.  She  had  lost 
money  to  a  far  greater  extent  than  she  could  possibly 
afford;  she  had  alienated  the  friend  she  had  so  ardent- 
ly desired  to  make;  she  had  acted  wilfully — absurdly 
— wrongly. 

She  opened  the  door  of  her  bedroom  with  hasty, 
unsteady  fingers.  The  lamp  on  the  writing-table  was 
lighted,  but  the  rest  of  the  room  was  dim;  through 
the  open  windows  came  a  slight  breeze  that  stirred 
the  chintz  curtains;  in  a  chair  by  the  dressing-table 
sat  Simonetta  in  an  attitude  of  weariness. 

The  sight  of  the  woman's  tired  figure  jarred  on 
Clodagh's  overstrained  nerves. 

"You  can  go,  Simonetta,"  she  said,  sharply.  "I'll 
put  myself  to  bed." 

Simonetta  started  up  remorsefully. 

"Pardon,  signora — "  she  exclaimed. 

But  Clodagh  cut  her  short. 

"You  can  go,"  she  said.      "Good-night." 

The  woman  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  doubt 
and  reluctance;  then,  instinctively  realizing  that  argu- 
ment was  useless,  mewed  softly  to  the  door. 

"Good-night,  signora,"  she  ventured;  but  as  Clo- 
dagh made  no  response  she  departed,  silently  closing 
the  door. 

Left  alone,  Clodagh  moved  aimlessly  to  the  centre 
of  the  room,  and  stood  there  as  if  seeking  some  object 
which  might  distract  her  mind.  Her  glance  passed 
vaguely  over  the  dressing-table,  laden  with  familiar 
personal  objects,  then  strayed  to  a  couch  on  which 
lay  an  open  book  that  she  had  made  a  fruitless  at- 

3^3 


THE    GAMBLER 

tempt  to  read  during  the  hot  hours  of  the  afternoon; 
at  last,  attracted  by  the  Hght  of  the  lamp,  it  turned 
to  the  writing-table,  on  which  was  placed  the  heavy 
leather  writing-case  that  had  belonged  to  her  mother 
and  that  had  remained  with  her  through  all  hef 
wanderings  since  the  time  of  her  marriage.  It  lay 
unlocked,  as  she  had  left  it  the  evening  before,  the 
contents  protruding  untidily  from  under  the  thick 
leather  flap.  Something  intimate  and  friendly  in  the 
shabby  object  appealed  to  and  attracted  her.  With- 
out considering  the  action,  she  went  slowly  forward 
and  laid  her  fingers  hesitatingly  upon  it.  All  the 
small  records  that  constituted  memory  lay  side  by 
side  in  this  worn  leather  case.  Her  check-books — 
her  letters — the  few  souvenirs  her  life  had  provided. 

She  raised  the  flap  lingeringly  and  lifted  out  the 
topmost  papers.  First  to  her  hand  came  a  bundle 
of  Laurence  Asshlin's  monthly  reports  from  Orris- 
town — boyish,  spirited  records  of  trivial  doings,  ill- 
constructed  from  a  literary  point  of  view,  shrewdly 
humorous  in  their  own  peculiar  way.  These  she 
tossed  aside,  as  things  of  small  account,  and  turned 
almost  hurriedly  to  the  papers  that  lay  immediately 
beneath.  They  proved  to  be  her  sister's  letters,  dat- 
ing from  the  time  of  their  parting  in  London,  when 
Nance  had  been  sent  to  school.  For  a  space  she  held 
them  in  her  hand,  while  a  curious  expression,  half- 
antagonistic,  half  -  tender,  touched  her  face;  then, 
with  a  little  sigh,  she  laid  them  down  again  without 
having  turned  a  page. 

The  next  object  that  she  drew  forth  was  the  faded 
telegram  that,  years  ago,  at  the  time  of  Denis  Assh- 
lin's accident,  had  brought  the  longed  -  for  news 
that  Milbanke  was  on  his  way  to  Orristown.  She 
opened  it,  read  it,  then  folded  it  and  replaced  it  with 

364 


THE    GAMBLER 

something  of  uneasy  haste;  and  again  burying  her 
hand  in  the  recesses  of  the  case,  brought  to  Hght 
another  hnk  with  the  past  —  a  large  envelope  into 
which  were  crushed  a  number  of  things,  among  them 
the  first  invitation  from  Lady  Frances  Plope  in 
Venice;  a  ribbon  that  had  tied  a  bouquet  of  flowers 
on  the  dinner  -  table  at  the  Abbati  Restaurant;  a 
Venetian  theatre  programme;  a  couple  of  dry  roses 
that  she  had  worn  on  the  night  when  Gore  had 
taken  her  home  from  the  Palazzo  Ugochini.  Very 
slowly  she  drew  these  trophies  forth.  Each  breathed 
the  romance  of  things  gone  by,  yet  each  possessed 
the  poison  of  present  disillusion.  As  she  lifted  up 
the  roses  her  expression  became  suddenly  pained  and 
resentful,  and  with  a  fierce  impulse  she  crushed  the 
dry,  brown  leaves  between  her  fingers,  flung  them 
from  her  across  the  room,  and  hurriedly  lifted  the 
next  object  from  the  writing-case.  This  last  was  a 
large  bundle  of  papers  tied  together  with  a  black 
ribbon. 

Lifting  it  into  the  light,  she  looked  at  it  for  a  long 
time  without  attempting  to  untie  the  string.  It  was 
the  collection  of  her  father's  scanty  correspondence 
and  ill-assorted  business  letters,  which  she  had  bound 
together  the  night  before  her  marriage  —  and  had 
never  since  opened. 

A  curious  feeling  assailed  her  now  as  she  looked 
at  these  yellowing  papers,  eloquent  of  dead  days, 
and  at  the  mourning  ribbon,  significant  of  emotions 
keen  and  bitter  in  the  living,  but  buried  now  under 
the  weight  of  newer  things.  How  strange,  how  dis- 
tant and  impersonal  the  pages  seemed !  And  yet  the 
time  had  been  when  every  written  line  had  played  its 
part  in  some  human,  personal  endeavor!  Each  docu- 
ment had  represented  loss  or  gain  to  some  individual; 

365 


THE    GAMBLER 

each  letter  had  conveyed  its  fragment  of  earthly 
sentiment.  Moved  .suddenly  by  the  suggestions  of 
the  moment,  she  untied  the  string. 

A  faint,  dry  odor  rose  from  the  loosened  papers — 
the  intangible  scent  that  indicates  the  past.  It 
seemed  that  some  world,  distant  and  forgotten,  had 
suddenly  put  forth  a  shadowy  hand,  pointing  she 
knew  not  whither.  Over  her  brain,  fevered  from  the 
night's  excitement,  fell  a  stillness — an  arresting  calm; 
across  her  thoughts,  distorted  by  mistaken  struggles, 
glided  a  memory — a  picture.  She  saw  herself  as  she 
had  been  before  her  marriage,  in  the  far-off,  isolated 
days  when  life  had  been  a  simple  thing,  when  the 
world  outside  Orristown  had  been  a  golden  realm  ' 
lying  beyond  the  sunset. 

How  young  she  had  been  then!  How  extraordi- 
narily, indescribably  young!  How  untrammelled  in 
her  actions  and  sweeping  in  her  judgments!  As  the 
old  existence  pressed  about  her  in  a  cloud  of  images, 
she  opened  the  first  letter,  but  so  unsteadily,  so 
agitatedly  that,  in  the  opening,  five  or  six  of  the 
pages  slipped  from  the  packet  and  fluttered  to  the 
writing-table,  bringing  with  them  a  small,  unframed 
ivory  miniature  that  had  been  wrapped  within  the 
sheets. 

The  thin,  frag-ile  picture  dropped  with  a  faint, 
tinkling-  sound.  Clodag-h  bent  forward  to  recover  it, 
then  paused,  leaning  over  the  writing-table  in  an 
attitude  of  attention.  The  miniature  lay  face  up- 
ward, and  in  the  strong  light  of  the  lamp  its  out- 
line and  colors  shone  forth  distinctly.  It  represented 
the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  man  in  a  scarlet  coat  and 
hunting-stock — a  man  of  thirty,  with  a  handsome, 
defiant  face,  fine  eyes,  and  an  obstinate,  unreliable 
mouth. 

366 


THE    GAMBLER 

It  lay  looking  up  into  her  face,  while  she  stared 
back  at  it  as  though  a  ghost  had  risen  from  the  faded 
letters.  On  the  night  before  her  marriage  she  had 
come  upon  this  miniature  of  Denis  Asshlin;  and  in  a 
frenzy  of  renewed  grief  had  thrust  it  out  of  sight 
among  the  papers  she  had  collected.  Then  the 
picture  had  seemed  pitifully  sad  in  its  presentment 
of  the  dead  man  in  the  days  of  his  strength ;  now,  as 
she  looked  upon  it  in  the  light  of  subsequent  knowl- 
edge, it  seemed  a  thing  instinct  with  portent  and  dread. 

Sharply  and  cruelly  the  glamour  cast  by  death  re- 
ceded from  AsshUn's  memory.  She  saw  him  as  she 
had  seen  him  in  life — selfish,  obstinate,  and  yet  weak. 
And,  quick  as  the  vision  came,  another  followed — 
the  vision  of  herself  —  of  her  own  attitude  towards 
her  existence  and  her  responsibilities. 

In  silent,  intent  concentration  she  gazed  upon  the 
picture;  until  at  last,  seized  by  an  ungovernable  im- 
pulse, half-instinctive  reahzation,  half-superstitious 
dread,  she  caught  up  the  lamp  and  walked  to  the 
dressing-table.  There,  lifting  off  the  colored  shade, 
she  laid  it  upon  the  table,  and,  lifting  the  mirror, 
looked  fixedly  at  her  own  reflection,  intensified  by 
the  crude,  strong  light. 

For  several  minutes  she  stood  quite  motionless, 
her  questioning  eyes  searching  the  eyes  in  the  glass, 
her  pale  face  confronting  its  own  reflection.  And  as 
she  looked,  expressions  of  doubt,  of  fear,  of  conviction 
chased  each  other  across  her  features. 

The  image  that  confronted  her  was  her  father's 
image,  softened  by  differerwres  of  age  and  sex,  but 
fundamentally  the  same  —  the  image  of  one  who 
had  wasted  his  life,  ignored  his  duties,  squandered 
the  substance  of  those  who  were  dependent  upon  him ; 
one  whom  even  his  children  had  learned  to  despise. 

367 


THE    GAMBLER 

With  a  sudden  sensation  of  physical  faintness  she 
turned  from  the  table.  For  every  folly  of  Denis 
Asshlin's  there  sprang  to  her  mind  some  correspond- 
ing folly  in  her  own  more  brilliant  life.  How  in- 
efficiently she  had  worked  out  her  own  destiny — she 
who  long  ago  had  been  so  rigid  in  her  condemnation 
of  him! 

In  sudden  terror  she  moved  unsteadily  across  the 
room  and  stood  leaning  against  the  foot  of  the  oak 
bedstead;  then,  all  at  once,  she  made  a  swift,  pas- 
sionate gesture  and  dropped  to  her  knees. 

"Oh,  God!"  she  whispered  wildly.  "God!  God, 
who  made  me!     I  am  afraid!" 


XXXVII 

AT  eleven  o'clock  on  July  4th  Nance  was  to  ar- 
^  rive  at  Tuffncll.  Her  boat  reached  Liverpool 
on  the  3d;  but  it  had  been  arranged  that  she 
was  to  spend  the  night  on  board  and  take  an 
early  train  to  Buckinghamshire  on  the  following 
morning. 

At  ten  o'clock  Clodagh,  wearing  a  hat  and  veil 
and  drawing  on  her  gloves,  left  her  bedroom  and 
descended  the  stairs.  Taking  advantage  of  Lady 
Diana's  arrangement  that  all  the  guests  were  at 
liberty  to  breakfast  in  their  own  rooms,  she  had 
elected  to  avoid  the  family  meal,  at  which  her  in- 
stinct told  her  Gore  would  be  present.  After  last 
night's  mental  crisis  the  idea  of  encountering  his 
polite  avoidance  would   have  been  intolerable. 

As  she  passed  down  -  stairs  now,  with  slow  and 
sobered  steps,  she  half  paused  as  the  burly  figure  of 
George  Tuffnell  appeared  at  the  open  hall-door;  but 
her  hesitation  was  not  permitted  to  last,  for  instantly 
her  host  caught  sight  of  her  he  came  forward  hos- 
pitably. And  a  new  shame  woke  in  her  as  she  real- 
ized that  Lady  Diana  Tuflfnell  had  preserved  silence 
even  to  her  husband  upon  the  subject  of  last  night's 
incident — or  at  least  upon  her  share  in  it. 

"Halloo,    Mrs.     Milbanke!"    he    cried,    cheerfully. 
"  Has  the  London  atmosphere  got  imported  with  our 
guests?     These  are  London  hours,  you  know!" 
24  369 


THE    GAMBLER 

He  strode  iip  to  her,  followed  closely  by  a  couple 
of  dogs,  and  seized  her  hand  cordially. 

Clodagh  gave  a  little,  embarrassed  laugh,  and  in- 
stantly stooped  to  caress  the  dogs. 

"I  feel  ashamed  of  myself,"  she  said,  hurriedly. 
"You  and  Lady  Diana  must  forgive  me.  But  I  was 
very  tired  last  night." 

Tuffnell  waived  the  matter  good-naturedly. 

"Don't  apologize!  Don't  mention  it!  But  you 
should  be  thinking  about  the  train.  I  was  just  com- 
ing to  tell  you  that  the  trap  is  ready  whenever  you 
are.  It  was  Di's  idea  to  give  you  the  trap;  she  said 
you'd  hate  a  big  conveyance  that  would  tempt  peo- 
ple to  offer  themselves  as  escorts."  He  laughed  in 
his  hearty,  untroubled  way.  "One  of  the  men  will 
drive  you  over,  but  you  can  get  rid  of  him  at  tlie 
station.  He'll  come  back  in  the  dog-cart  with  Miss 
Asshlin's  luggage." 

Again  Clodagh  bent  to  pat  the  dogs. 

"How  kind  of  Lady  Diana!"  she  murmured.  "I 
haven't  seen  my  little  sister  for  years  and  years,  you 
know." 

"You'll  find  her  changed,  I'll  guarantee.  Children 
do  spring  up."  He  gave  a  loud,  contented  sigh. 
"But  shall  I  order  the  trap  round?  Or  do  you  want 
to  see  Di  first?" 

"I  think  I'll — I'll  see  Lady  Diana  later — if  it  will 
not  seem  ungracious." 

"Ungracious!  Not  a  bit!  I'll  get  the  trap."  He 
turned  and  swung  across  the  sunny  hall,  whistling 
to  his  dogs;  and  Clodagh,  still  quiet  and  subdued, 
walked  slowly  after  him  to  the  door. 

No  one  was  about  when  the  small  tr:ip  was  brought 
round  from  the  stables,  followed  by  Tuffnell  and  the 
dogs.     And  as  Clodagh  came  down  the  steps  the  two 

370 


THIi    GAMBLER 

animals  pressed  forward  with  upturned,  eager  faces; 
and  the  friendly  appeal  in  their  faithful  eyes  touched 
her  to  remembrance  of  many  gray  and  misty  morn- 
ings, when  Denis  Asshlin's  high,  old-fashioned  trap 
would  sweep  round  from  the  Orristown  stable-yard, 
and  dogs  such  as  these  would  plead  passionately  for  a 
share  in  the  impending  journey.  A  dry,  painful  sen- 
sation seemed  to  catch  her  throat. 

"May  they  come  with  me?"  she  asked,  softly. 
"  I  love  animals.  I  had  to  send  my  own  Irish  terrier 
home  to  Ireland  when  I  gave  u])  my  house  in  Italy — 
and  nothing  has  ever  quite  taken  his  place.  Do  let 
lb. em  come!     They  would  be  so  good!" 

The  two  dogs  looked  swiftly  from  her  face  to  their 
master's. 

But  George  Tuffncll  pretended  to  be  stern. 

"No!"  he  said,  loudly.  "No!  Dick  and  Tom 
can't  go  to  the  station  to-day!" 

Instantly  the  two  tails  dropped. 

"Come,  Myers!"  he  called  to  the  groom.  "Mrs. 
Milbanke  has  no  time  to  spare.  Dick!  Tom!  To 
heel!"  He  winked  humorously  at  Clodagh  as  she 
stepped  into  the  trap,  and  a  moment  later  the  groom 
took  his  seat  and  ])i(>kcd  up  the  reins. 

Then  suddenly  he  broke  into  a  shout  of  genial  laughter. 

"You  villains!"  he  cried.  "Off  with  you!  Away 
with  you!"  And  with  a  yelp  of  wild  delight  the  dogs 
sped  down  the  avenue. 

Clodagh  scarcely  noticed  the  details  of  that  swift 
drive,  for  a  nervous  sense  of  excitement  and  trepida- 
tion banished  her  powers  of  observation.  And  as 
she  stepjied  from  the  little  trap  and  entered  the 
small  country  station  she  could  scarcely  command  a 
steady  voice  in  which  to  ask  whether  the  train  was 
yet  due. 

371 


THE    GAMBLER 

The  train  proved  to  be  overdue  by  three  minutes, 
and  the  knowledge  brought  an  added  qualm  of  appre- 
hension. 

What  if  little  Nance  were  utterly  changed  ?  What 
if  America  had  spoiled  her?  But  her  thoughts  and 
fears  were  alike  broken  in  upon  by  a  long,  shrill 
whistle;  the  expected  train  loomed  round  a  curve  in 
the  line,  and  a  moment  later  roared  its  way  into  the 
station. 

There  was  a  second  of  uncertainty;  then  some- 
where in  the  front  of  the  train  a  door  was  flung  open, 
a  small,  slight  figure  in  a  muslin  dress  sped  down  the 
platform,  and  two  warm  arms  were  thrown  about 
Clodagh's  neck,  bridging  in  one  moment  the  gulf  of 
years. 

The  sisters  held  and  kissed  each  other,  regardless 
of  the  one  or  two  country  passengers  who  had  alighted 
from  the  train  and  the  two  grooms  from  Tuffnell 
who  were  waiting  for  Nance's  luggage.  Then  at  last 
the  younger  girl  drew  away,  and,  still  holding  Clo- 
dagh's hand,  looked  at  her  intently. 

"  Oh,  Clo!"  she  cried.      "  How  lovely  you  are!" 

At  the  old  name,  the  old,  candid  admiration,  tears 
rushed  suddenly  to  Clodagh's  eyes. 

"I'm  not,  darling — I'm  not.  But  vou  are  sweet 
— and  the  same,  oh,  the  very  same!'' 

She  laughed  with  a  break  in  her  voice;  then,  as 
two  porters  came  down  the  platform  rolling  Nance's 
luggage,  she  remembered  the  necessities  of  the  mo- 
ment. 

"  Is  this  yours?" 

"Yes;  my  American  clothes.  Do  I  look  very 
American?" 

"You  look  sweet.  Myers,"  she  added  to  the 
groom,  who  had  come  forward,  "this  is  Miss  Asshlin's 

372 


THE    GAMBLER 

luggage.  And  will  you  please  go  back  in  the  dog- 
cart.    I  want  to  drive  the  pony  home." 

Myers  touched  his  cap. 

"Very  good,  ma'am." 

He  turned  and  passed  out  of  the  station. 

Nance  pressed  her  sister's  hand  with  one  of  her  old, 
shy  laughs  that  sounded  infinitely  sweet  from  grown- 
up lips. 

"Clo,  I  can  never  get  used  to  your  being  called 
'ma'am.'  Do  you  remember  the  people  at  San 
Domenico,  who  would  call  you  'signorina,'  when 
poor  James — " 

She  stopped  abruptly,  coloring  at  her  unconsidered 
mention  of  her  brother-in-law. 

"Clo,  tell  me  all  about  Tuffnell  Place!"  she  sub- 
stituted, with  another  sympathetic  pressure  of  her 
fingers.  "Tell  me  about  Lady  Diana  and  Mr.  Tuff- 
nell!  I  think  I  should  hate  to  be  plain  mister  if  my 
wife  had  a  title.  And  all  about  Lady  Frances  Hope 
and  Lord  Deerehurst  and  Mr.  Serracauld!  I'm  dying 
to  see  all  the  people  you  put  in  your  letters.  They're 
like  characters  in  a  book — and,  of  course,  you  are  the 
heroine!  Oh,  I'm  so  happy,  Clo!"  she  cried,  ecs- 
tatically ;  "  I'm  so  happy!  Do  you  care  for  me  ?  Do 
you  want  me  much — very  much?" 

Her  dark -blue  eyes  searched  Clodagh's  face,  as 
they  had  been  wont  to  search  it  long  ago,  for,  be- 
neath the  pretty  manner  that  time  had  taught  her, 
her  warm,  loyal  nature  had  remained  unchanged. 

And  as  Clodagh  returned  her  glance  her  heart  sud- 
denly sank.  Until  the  moment  of  her  meeting  with 
Nance  she  had  been  conscious  of  only  one  desire  in 
her  regard — the  desire  to  fully  confess  to  her  appro- 
priation of  the  ;/^iooo.  For,  in  the  lull  that  had 
followed  the  previous  night's  crisis,  she  had  seen  this 

373 


THE     GAMBLER 

confession  as  the  sole  means  of  regaining  self-respect. 
Her  other  follies — her  gambling,  her  extravagances — 
offered  no  means  of  redress ;  but  for  this  one  personal 
act  of  weakness  she  could  still  do  penance.  And 
now,  by  her  very  faith,  by  her  very  love,  Nance  had 
shaken  the  desire. 

This  spontaneous,  unsuspicious  admiration  was 
the  sweetest  experience  that  had  come  to  her  for 
years.  She  involuntarily  returned  the  pressure  of 
the  clinging  fingers,  as  she  drew  her  sister  through 
the  sinall  gate  of  the  station.  She  was  glad  to  think 
that  there  was  the  drive  home,  the  moments  of  ar- 
rival and  of  unpacking,  before  any  mention  of  per- 
sonal matters  could  break  in  upon  the  present 
calm. 

Outside  the  station  Nance  saw  the  two  dogs  for 
the  first  time,  and  insisted  upon  making  friends  with 
them  before  entering  the  trap. 

"Did  you  miss  Mick  dreadfully  when  you  sent  him 
back  to  Orristown?"  she  asked,  when  at  last  she  took 
her  seat. 

"Dreadfully,"  Clodagh  answered,  taking  the  reins 
from  the  groom.  "But  I  didn't  know  what  to  do 
with  him  when  I  left  the  villa.  You  see,  I  had  no 
real  plans." 

"No,  no;  of  course  not.  But  you'll  get  him  back 
soon  ?" 

"Yes,  I  want  to."  Clodagh  gathered  up  tlie  reins, 
and  the  pony  started  forward  at  a  swift  trot.  "But, 
do  you  know,  Nance,  I  have  thought  of  going  to 
Orristown  in  a  month  or  so.  Would  you  like  to  come 
to  Ireland?" 

"Like  to?  Oh,  Clo,  1  have  dreamed  and  dreamed 
of  our  being  at  Orristown  together — just  you  and 
me.     Can  you  picture  it  ?     Wearing  our  oldest  clothes 

374 


THE    GAMBLER 

— riding  and  walking  and  sailing  all  day  long — and 
making  Hannah  cook  us  the  mtjst  heavenly  cakes  for 
tea!" 

vShe  clasped  her  hands  rapturously,  regardless  of 
her  new  white  gloves. 

Clodagh  laughed  softly  and  affectionately. 

"Oh,  you  child!"  she  said,  almost  enviously. 

How  sweet  and  pretty  and  unaffected  she  was — 
this  little  sister  who  had  suddenly  stepped  back  into 
her  life.  An  overwhelmingly  tender  feeling  of  pro- 
tectiveness  welled  up  within  her  —  a  sudden,  deep 
longing  to  shelter  and  guard  her,  to  hedge  her  round 
with  all  that  is  sacred  and  fine. 

"Nance,"  she  said,  impulsively,  "have  you  ever 
thought  that  I  behaved  badly  to  you?  Behaved  un- 
fairly in  any  way?" 

"Unfairly?" 

"Yes." 

Nance  laughed. 

"You're  dreaming,  Clo.  How  could  you  behave 
unfairly?" 

"Suppose  some  one  were  to  tell  you  that  I  had?" 

"I  shouldn't  believe  it,  that's  all." 

"If  I  were  to  tell  you?"  Clodagh's  fingers  tight- 
ened on  the  reins. 

"If  you  were  to  tell  me  that,"  Nance  said,  very 
slowly,  "I  think  it  would  spoil  everything  in  the 
world.  I  believe  so — so  dreadfully  in  you.  But 
why  talk  about  it,  when  it's  nonsense?"  She  shook 
off  the  momentary  shadow  that  had  fallen  between 
them.      "  I  hate  '  ifs,'  unless  they're  very  happy  ones." 

So  Clodagh  struggled  no  more  with  her  conscience 
during  the  drive  along  the  shady  Buckinghamshire 
roads.  Yielding  to  the  spell  of  Nance's  voice,  she 
lulled  the  knowledge  of  iin]jending  difficulties,   anil 

375 


THE    GAMBLER 

opened  her  ears  to  the  tale  of  her  sister's  experiences 
— of  her  friends,  her  acquaintances,  her  pleasures, 
her  occupations — all  poured  forth  with  a  perfectly  in- 
genuous egotism  that  was  a  refreshment  and  delight. 

Though  they  remained  together  all  through  the 
morning  and  afternoon,  the  sisters  had  no  further 
opportunity  of  a  tete-a-tete.  Immediately  on  their 
arrival  at  Tuffnell,  Lady  Diana  had  graciously  made 
Nance  welcome,  and  had  introduced  her  to  her  fellow- 
guests  ;  and  the  remainder  of  the  day  had  been  spent, 
first  in  tennis  and  croquet,  later  in  a  long  coach  drive, 
which  included  a  call  upon  some  neighbors  of  the 
Tuffnells.  Almost  immediately  after  dinner,  how- 
ever, Clodagh  had  pleaded  that  Nance  was  tired,  and 
had  borne  her  ofE  to  her  own  room.  There  she  dis- 
missed Simonetta,  and,  closing  the  door,  drew  for- 
ward two  chairs  to  the  open  window. 

"Now!"  she  said.  "At  last!  What  do  you  think 
of  Tuffnell — and  of  everybody?"  She  sank  into  one 
of  the  chairs  with  a  little  sigh. 

But  Nance,  instead  of  answering,  tiptoed  across 
the  room,  and,  bending  over  the  back  of  her  chair, 
gave  her  a  long,  impulsive  kiss. 

"Darling!"  she  cried.  "Clo!  You  are  so  lovely! 
I  am  so  proud  of  you!" 

Clodagh  pressed  her  cheeks  against  the  warm  lips, 
then  drew  Nance  round  to  the  side  of  her  chair. 

"Talk  to  me,"  she  said.  "Tell  me  whether  you 
like  Tuffnell?" 

Nance  gave  a  little  laugh  of  inconsequent  happi- 
ness, and  nestled  down  at  her  sister's  feet. 

"Tuffnell  is  heavenly.  But  there  are  only  four 
nice  people  here." 

"Four  nice  people?     What  do  you  mean?" 

376 


THE    GAMBLER 

"What  I  say.  There  are  only  four  nice  people 
here — you,  of  course" — she  lifted  one  of  Clodagh's 
hands  and  pressed  it  against  her  lips  —  "and  Lady 
Diana  Tuffnell,  and  Mr.  Tuffnell,  and  that  nice,  fair 
man  with  the  sunburned  face." 

Clodagh  withdrew  her  hand  from  her  sister's. 

"Sir  Walter  Gore?" 

"Yes.     Don't  you  think  him  nice?" 

"I_?     Oh,  I— I  don't  know." 

"But  why?     He  likes  you." 

Clodagh  gave  a  quick,  unsteady  laugh  and  sank 
back  into  her  chair. 

"Dear  little  Nance!  What  a  baby  you  are!  If 
there  is  one  person  in  the  world  who  does  not  like 
me,  it  is  Sir  Walter  Gore." 

With  a  sudden  movement  of  interest  Nance  sat  up 
and  looked  at  her  sister. 

"  But  he  does,  Clo,"  she  said.  "  I  saw  him  looking 
at  you  over  and  over  again,  when  you  were  talking 
to  other  people.  He  likes  you.  Oh,  he  does  like 
you!  And  he  doesn't  care  one  bit  for  Lady  Frances 
Hope,  though  she  follows  him  everywhere  he  goes — " 

But  Clodagh  sat  suddenly  upright,  and  with  an 
abrupt  gesture  put  her  hand  on  her  sister's  shoulder. 

"Nance,"  she  said,  sharply,  "you  are  talking  about 
things  that  you  don't  understand.  Don't  talk  about 
them.     It — it  annoys  me." 

"But  Clo—" 

For  answer  Clodagh  stooped  and  kissed  her  almost 
nervously. 

"When  you  are  older,  Nance,  you  will  know  that 
it  is  tactless  to  talk  of  certain  things  to  certain  peo- 
ple. Don't  talk  to  me  again  of  Sir  Walter  Gore.  He 
and  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  each  other.  We — we 
belong  to  different  worlds." 

377 


THE    GAMBLER 

Once  more  she  bent  and  kissed  Nance's  startled, 
penitent  face,  and,  putting  her  gently  from  her,  rose 
and  walked  to  the  window. 

For  some  minutes  there  was  silence  in  the  room  ; 
then  Clodagh  spoke  in  a  completely  different  voice. 

"Nance,"  she  said,  "there  is  something  I  want  to 
tell  you — something  I  should  have  written  to  you, 
and  didn't — " 

Nance,  in  the  swift  relief  of  her  sister's  altered  tone, 
sprang  to  her  feet,  and,  running  across  the  room, 
threw  her  arms  about  her. 

"And  Clo,  there's  something  I  ought  to  have 
written  to  you,  only  I  was  too  shy — and  had  to  wait 
till  I  could  say  it  like  this,  with  my  arms  round  you — " 

It  was  Clodagh's  turn  to  look  startled.  She  tried 
to  hold  Nance  away  from  her,  that  she  might  see  her 
face,  btit  Nance  only  clung  the  closer. 

"Clo,  you  love  me?     Oh,  say  you  love  me!" 

"Of  course  I  love  you." 

"And  you  won't  be  vexed?" 

"Nance,    what   is   it?     You   frighten    me!     What 

is  it?" 

"Oh,    it's   nothing   frightening.     It's  —  it's    about 

Pierce — Pierce  Estcoit — " 

The  words  came  forth  with  a  tremendous  gasp. 

"What  is  it?" 

"He — Clo,  he  wants  to  marry  me.  You're  not 
vexed?     Oh,  Clo,  you're  not  vexed?" 

At  last  Nance's  arms  relaxed,  and  she  looked  up 
beseechingly  into  her  sister's  face. 

In  sudden,  nervous  relief  and  amusement  Clo- 
dagh laughed;  then  her  face  became  grave  again,  and 
she  drew  her  sister  to  her  with  deep,  impulsive  ten- 
derness. 

"Vexed,  darling?"  she  said.     "Vexed?" 

378 


THE    GAMBLER 

Nance  kissed  her  ecstatically. 

"Oh,  the  relief  of  having  it  said!"  she  cried.  "I 
have  felt  like  a  criminal,  keeping  it  to  myself.  But 
Pierce  said  I  could  do  more  with  one  word  than  a 
dozen  letters. 

Clodagh  looked  down  into  the  pretty,  eager  face, 
and  laughed  again  softly,  though  her  eyes  were  full 
of  tears. 

"Pierce  was  right,"  she  said.  "I  don't  think  any 
one  could  say  more  in  one  word  than  you  could. 
But  do  you  love  him,  Nance?  Do  you  love  him? 
That  is  the  great,  great  thing.  And  you  are  so  very 
young."  A  look  of  keen  anxiety  crossed  her  face, 
and  she  gazed  into  Nance's  eyes,  as  if  striving  to 
read  her  heart. 

Nance  returned  her  look  with  a  steadfast  gravity, 
curious  in  one  so  young. 

"Next  to  you,  Clo,  he's  the  best  person  in  all  the 
world,"  she  said. 

The  tears  in  Clodagh's  eyes  brimmed  over. 

"  You  put  me  first  ?     Really,  Nance?     Really?" 

Nance  nodded  seriouKly. 

"And  next  to  you,  he's  the  very  best.  Btit,  Clo" 
— she  blushed  deeply — "he  wants  me  to  marry  him 
soon — fearfully  soon — in  the  autumn.  He's  coming 
over  with  Mrs.  Estcoit  and  Daisy  in  three  weeks' 
time  to  try  and  persuade  you  Clo,  you're  not 
vexed  ?  He  has  promised  that  we  shall  be  together 
more  than  half  every  year,  if  you  wish." 

Clodagh,  touched  by  a  pang  of  loneliness,  turned 
away  and  gazed  through  the  open  window  across  the 
sleeping  country. 

"  And  you  love  him  ?  You  are  certain  that  you 
love  him?"  She  turned  again  and  laid  her  hands 
on  her  sister's  shoulders. 

379 


THE    GAMBLER 

Nance's  gaze,  wise  in  its  very  youthfulness,  met 
hers  unflinchingly. 

•'I  care  for  him  like  I  care  for  you,  Clo.  And  I've 
cared  for  you  always." 

Clodagh  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Then  I  am  satisned.  I  shall  not  keep  you  from 
happiness."  With  a  quiet  movement  she  bent  for- 
ward and  kissed  the  soft  hair  above  Nance's  fore- 
head. 

After  this  seal  of  love  both  were  ?ilent  for  a  min- 
ute or  two ;  then  Nance  spoke  again ,  her  lashes  lowered, 
her  fingers  twisted  tightly  about  her  sister's. 

"Clo,  doesn't  it  seem  wonderful  that  he  should 
care  for  me  —  he,  who  is  so  bright  and  c-lever  and 
rich?  But  I've  been  lucky  in  everything,  haven't  I  ? 
I  haven't  liked  to  say  it  before,  but  wasn't  it  awfully 
kind — awfully  good  of  Jame^?" 

Clodagh  half  withdrew  her  hand.  In  the  surpris- 
ing news  that  Nance  had  given  her  she  had  forgotten 
the  confession  she  had  still  to  make. 

"Clo,  wasn't  it  awfully  kind  of  him  ?" 

Clodagh  did  not  answer  at  once,  and  when  she  did 
so  her  voice  was  strained. 

"To  leave  you  that  money?  —  that  thousand 
pounds?" 

"Yes,  the  thousand  pounds.  Clo,  you  don't  know 
the  dozens  and  dozens  of  times  it  has  made  me  happy 
to  think  of  that  since — since  Pierce  has  caied  for  me. 
It  isn't  that  I  like  money  for  itself,  but  when  one 
is  horribly  poor  one  is  sensitive  about  marrying  a 
millionaire.  I  mean,  you  know — "  Again  her  fin- 
gers clung  to  her  sister's. 

"Yes?" 

"  One  feels  that  one  would  like  to  come  to  him  with 
everything  that  —  well — that  his  sister  would  have 

380 


THE    GAMBLER 

if  she  married.  It's  very  silly,  of  course.  Clodagh, 
do  I  seem  very  silly  ?" 

At  anv  other  time  Clodagh  would  have  smiled  at 
the  ingeauousness  of  the  words;  but  now  some  feel- 
ing within  herself  banished  amusement. 

"What  is  il ,  darling.?"  she  asked.  "There's  some- 
thing you  are  trying  to  say." 

Nance  looked  up  into  her  face. 

"Clo,  it's  all  this  stupid  pride.  Of  course,  Pierce 
and  Daisy  and  Mrs.  Estcoit  know  that  I  have  nothing 
except  my  share  in  Orristown — which,  of  course,  is 
nothing.  And  I  know  that  for  all  the  rest  of  my 
life  I  shall  be  dependent  on  Pierce  for  everything. 
But  it's  ju5'.t  because  of  that  that  I  want  to  come 
to  him  with  all  the  things — the  clothes  and  things 
— that  other  girls  have.  Oh,  I  know  it's  hateful  of 
me,  it's  weik  and  vain." 

Clodagh  pressed  her  hand  suddenly. 

"No,  darling.      I  understand." 

"You  do?  Oh,  Clo!  Dear  Clo!  Then  you  know 
what  the  thousand  pounds  seems  like!  A  thousand 
pounds,  all  my  own!  Money  of  my  own  to  buy  beau- 
tiful things  with — things  like  Daisy's — things  like 
yours!  I,  who  have  never  had  a  penny  that  really 
belonged  to  me!  And  Clodagh,  may  I  have  it  soon? 
That's  whft  I  want  to  say.  May  I  have  it  soon?  I 
won't  spend  it  all,  of  course — not  half — nor  quarter — " 
She  laughed.  "But  may  I  have  it  soon?  It — it 
would  be  heaven!" 

With  a  swift,  involuntary  movement  Clodagh  freed 
her  hrnd. 

"Clo,  I  have  said  too  much!  I  have  asked  too 
much!" 

"No,  darling.     No.     No." 

"Ihen  I've  tired  you!      Clo,  you're  tired!"     She 

381 


THE    GAMBLER 

caught  Clodagh's  hand  again.  "And  you  wanted  to 
tell  me  something.  Oh,  I've  been  selfish!  Won't 
you  forgive  me,  and  say  it  now?" 

But  Clodagh  turned  from  her  and  walked  to  the 
writing-table — the  table  on  which  her  father's  minia- 
ture had  rested  the  night  before. 

"No,  I  won't  talk  to-night,  darling,"  she  said, 
without  looking  round.  "  1 — I  think  I  have  for- 
gotten what  I  was  going  to  say," 


XXXVIII 

THE  key-note  of  Clodagh's  character  was  impulse. 
She  loved,  she  hated,  she  was  generous,  she  was 
foolish,  with  a  wide  impulsiveness. 

When  Nance  had  spoken  of  her  engagement,  her 
unselfish  joy  and  relief  in  the  security  it  promised 
had  aroused  a  renewed  desire  for  self-sacrifice,  as 
represented  by  confession  of  her  weakness ;  but  a 
moment  later,  when  Nance  had  spoken  of  Milbanke's 
legacy — of  her  innocent  joy  in  its  existence— of  her 
innocent  desire  for  its  possession — the  wish  had  fal- 
tered. She  had  given  her  tacit  agreement  that  the 
;;^iooo  should  be  placed  in  Nance's  hands.  The  ;(^iooo, 
of  which  the  greater  portion  had  already  gone  to  swell 
the  coffers  of  London  tradesmen  or  fill  the  pockets  of 
her  fashionable  friends. 

That  was  her  position  on  the  night  of  Nance's 
confidence;  and  on  the  following  morning  she  woke 
with  an  oppressive  sense  that  action  must  be  taken 
in  some  direction. 

The  whole  house  -  party,  with  the  exception  of 
Deerehurst,  put  in  an  appearance  at  the  early  break- 
fast. And  as  Clodagh  entered  the  breakfast  -  room 
her  spirits  rallied  a  little  at  the  sight  of  the  crowded 
table;  and  she  took  her  place  between  George  Tuff- 
nell  and  Serracauld  with  a  sense  of  respite. 

Lady  Diana,  who  was  occu])ying  her  usual  place 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  had  borne  Nance  off  to  sit 

383 


THE    GAMBLER 

beside  her;  while  Lady  Frances,  looking  a  little  worn 
in  the  searching  morning  light,  was  keeping  Mrs. 
Bathurst,  Mansfeldt,  and  Gore  amused. 

The  breakfast  was  not  a  long  meal,  and  at  its  con- 
clusion Lady  Diana  looked  round  the  table. 

"Now,  people,"  she  said,  amiably,  "what  are  the 
morning's  plans?  You  know  you  are  none  of  you 
to  forget  my  dance  to-night,  and  tire  yourselves!" 

Mrs.  Bathurst  turned  to  her  with  her  pretty,  lan- 
guid smile. 

"I'm  going  to  play  croquet  with  Mr.  Mansfeldt," 
she  announced.  "Nice,  lazy,  old-fashioned  croquet. 
We  shall  turn  up  at  lunch -time." 

"And  you,  Walter?"  Lady  Diana  asked.  "Will 
you  drive  over  with  me  to  Wynchley  ?  We  might 
take  Frances  and  "  ^ — again  she  looked  round  the 
party — "and  Miss  Asshlin." 

But  Nance  glanced  quickly  down  the  table  to 
where  her  sister  sat. 

Clodagh  caught  the  questioning  look  and  bent  her 
head. 

"Yes.  Go  with  Lady  Diana,"  she  said,  affection- 
ately.    "It's  very  sweet  of  her  to  take  you." 

Nance  smiled  shyly. 

"I  know,"  she  said,  looking  from  Clodagh  to  her 
hostess. 

Lady  Diana  returned  the  smile. 

"It's  sweet  of  your  sister  to  spare  you  to  me." 

While  she  was  speaking,  Serracauld  turned  to 
Clodagh. 

"Will  you  give  me  the  morning?"  he  said,  in  an 
undertone. 

She  drew  back  and  laughed  a  little. 

"What  a  conceited  suggestion!  Fancy  throwing 
my  little  sister  over  to  spend  the  morning  with  you!" 

384 


THE     GAMBLER 

He  looked  at  her  unabashed;  and,  as  Tuffnell 
turned  to  address  his  neighbor,  he  bent  close  to  her 
again. 

"You're  very  hard  on  me.  When  will  you  be 
really,  properly  kind?" 

"Oh,  sometime  —  perhaps."  Clodagh's  tone  was 
careless  and  light. 

"This  morning,  then  ?     Come  for  a  ride  with  me?" 

She  laughed  once  more  and  shook  her  head. 

"  I  have  a  letter — a  terrible  business  letter — that 
must  be  written — a  letter  to  Mr.  Barnard." 

Serracauld  raised  his  eyebrows  a  trifle  satirically. 

"To  Barny?  Ah,  then  I  sha'n't  press  the  point. 
But  how  many  dances  am  I  to  have  to-night?" 

"Dances?  You  know  I  sha'n't  dance."  She  glanced 
down  at  her  black  linen  dress. 

He  smiled  a  little. 

"Am  I  a  school-boy  that  I  should  want  to  dance? 
How  many  dances  are  we  to  sit  out?" 

"To  sit  out?  Oh,  I'll— I'll  tell  you  that  when 
we've  sat  out  one."  Without  looking  at  him,  she 
pushed  back  her  chair  as  Lady  Diana  rose. 

"Then  let  that  be  the  first  dance?" 

She  nodded  inconsequently. 

"Perhaps.  The  first  dance."  She  stood  up  and, 
joining  the  rest  of  the  company ,  moved  down  the  room. 

As  she  gained  the  door  Nance  ran  to  her. 

"Clo,  darhng!     Can't  I  stay  with  you?" 

Clodagh  smiled  down  into  the  eager,  upturned  face. 

"Not  this  morning.  I  have  a  business  letter  to 
write." 

"Then  I  must  go?"     Nance's  face  fell. 

"Must,  darling." 

"  But,  Clo,  you'll  think  of  me — and  love  me — all 
the  time  you're  writing  the  horrid  thing?" 

»s  385 


THE    GAMBLER 

Clodagh  laughed;  then  all  at  once  her  face  looked 
grave. 

"Dearest,"  she  said,  suddenly,  "you  don't  know 
how  much!"  And  without  explaining  her  words,  or 
waiting  for  Nance  to  speak  again,  she  passed  quickly 
across  the  hall  and  up  the  stairs. 

Four  different  times  Clodagh  began  her  letter  to 
Barnard.  Sitting  by  the  writing-table  close  to  the 
open  window  of  her  bedroom,  she  watched  the  vari- 
ous members  of  the  house-party  depart  on  their  dif- 
ferent ways;  but  the  quieter  and  more  deserted  the 
house  became,  the  more  impossible  it  seemed  to  her 
to  accomplish  the  task  she  had  in  hand.  At  last, 
with  a  gesture  of  despair,  she  tore  up  the  half-written 
letters  that  lay  strewn  about  her;  and,  rising  from 
the  table  with  a  sigh  of  vexation,  left  the  room,  clos- 
ing the  door  softly. 

With  a  frown  of  unhappiness  and  perplexity  still 
upon  her  forehead,  she  descended  the  stairs,  crossed 
the  hall,  and,  passing  round  the  back  of  the  house, 
made  her  way  to  the  rose  garden. 

The  rose  garden  at  Tuffnell  was  always  a  place  of 
beauty ;  but  in  the  month  of  July  it  was  a  paradise  of 
scent  and  color.  Down  its  centre  ran  a  long  strip 
of  close-cut  lawn,  flanked  on  either  side  by  stone 
seats  and  stone  nymphs  and  satyrs,  brought  from  an 
old  Italian  garden;  on  the  high  wall,  that  preserved 
to  the  place  an  absolute  seclusion,  a  dozen  peacocks 
sunned  themselves  gorgeously;  while  over  the  entire 
enclosure  grew — and  climbed — and  drooped — roses ; 
roses  of  every  shade  and  of  every  size ;  roses  that 
filled  the  air  with  a  warm  scent  that  seemed  at  once 
to  mingle  with  and  to  hold  the  summer  sun. 

She  paused  for  an  instant  upon  entering  this  en- 

^86 


THE    GAMBLER 

chanted  garden,  and  drew  a  deep  breath  of  involun- 
tary deHght;  then,  walking  slowly,  as  though  haste 
might  desecrate  such  beauty,  she  passed  down  the 
long,  smooth  lawn  that  formed  an  alley  of  greenness 
amid  the  pink  and  crimson  of  the  flowers. 

Pausing  at  the  farther  end,  she  stood,  soothed  by 
the  sights  and  scent  about  her,  until  suddenly  a 
harsh,  disturbed  cry  from  one  of  the  peacocks  broke 
the  spell.  She  turned  sharply  and  saw  Deerehurst 
standing  close  behind  her. 

"I  saw  you  from  my  dressing-room  window,"  he 
said,  in  answer  to  her  look  of  surprise.  "Was  it 
very  presumptuous  of  me  to  follow  you?" 

The  cold,  familiar  voice  banished  the  thought  of 
the  roses.  Her  vexations  and  perplexities  came  back 
upon  her  abruptly,  causing  her  face  to  cloud  over. 

"No,"  she  said,  hastily.  "No.  I— I  think  I  am 
glad  to  see  you.  I  am  in  a  hopeless  mood  to-day. 
Things  won't  go  right." 

He  took  her  hand  and  bent  over  it,  with  even  more 
than  his  usual  deference,  although  his  cold  eyes  shot 
a  swift  glance  at  her  distressed  face. 

"But  you  must  not  say  that,"  he  said,  softly. 
"Things  can  always  be  compelled  to  go  right." 

She  shook  her  head  despondently. 

"Not  for  me." 

He  freed  her  hand  gently,  and  pointed  to  one  of 
the  stone  seats  that  stood  under  the  shadow  of  the 
rose  bushes. 

"Shall  we  sit  down?"  he  said.  "There  is  a  great 
deal  of  repose  to  be  found  in  this  garden  of  Lady 
Diana's.  She  had  it  copied  many  years  ago  from 
my  rose  garden  at  Ambleigh." 

Clodagh  looked  up  at  him  as  they  moved  together 
across  the  grass. 

387 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Indeed!"  she  said.      "From  your  rose  garden?" 

"Yes;  she  and  Tuffnell  stayed  with  me  at  Am- 
bleigh  shortly  after  they  were  married — when  my 
sister  was  ahve.  And  Lady  Diana  fell  in  love  with 
my  rose  garden.  I  remember  I  sent  a  couple  of  my 
gardeners  down  here  to  plant  this  one  for  her.  It  is 
an  exact  reproduction,  on  a  smaller  scale." 

There  was  silence  while  they  seated  themselves; 
then  Clodagh,  looking  meditatively  in  front  of  her 
at  the  evil  face  of  one  of  the  stone  satyrs,  spoke  sud- 
denly and  impulsively. 

"I  envy  you,"  she  said. 

"You  envy  me?"  There  was  a  curious,  almost  an 
eager,  tone  in  Deerehurst's  voice ;  but  she  was  too  pre- 
occupied to  hear  it. 

"All  people  are  to  be  envied  who  have  power — and 
freedom.  I  get  so  tired  of  myself  sometimes.  So 
rebelHous  against  myself.  I  am  always  doing  the 
things  I  should  not  do,  and  failing  to  do  the  things  I 
should.     I  am  hopeless." 

For  a  space  he  made  no  attempt  to  break  in  upon 
her  mood;  then,  very  quietly,  he  bent  forward  and 
looked  up  into  her  face. 

"What  is  worrying  you?"  he  asked,  in  a  whisper. 
"Confession  really  is  very  good  for  the  soul." 

For  a  moment  she  answered  nothing;  then,  yield- 
ing to  an  impulse,  she  met  his  scrutinizing  eyes. 

"Oh,  it's  only  a  letter  that  won't  let  itself  be  writ- 
ten—  one  of  those  abominable  letters  that  one  has 
to  write.     Talking  of  it  does  no  good." 

"  No  good  ?  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  I  believe 
in  talking.     Tell  me  about  it." 

Clodagh  laid  her  hand  nervously  on  the  arm  of  the 
seat. 

"I  have  been  stupid,"  she  said,  almost  defiantly. 

388 


THE    GAMBLER 

"I  have  overstepped  my  allowance,  and  must  ask  Mr. 
Barnard  to  advance  me  some  money.  And — and  I, 
somehow,  hate  to  do  it.  Am  1  not  a  fool.''"  She 
laughed  unsteadily,  and  turned  to  look  at  her  com- 
panion, but  he  had  drawn  back  into  the  shadow  of 
the  seat.  "Oh,  it's  childish!  Ridiculous!  I  am  dis- 
gusted with  myself!"  Her  glance  again  crossed  the 
strip  of  green  lawn  to  where  the  stone  satyr  stood. 

Quite  silently  Deerehurst  bent  forward  again. 

"What  is  the  amount?"  he  asked,  softly. 

"A  thousand  pounds." 

"And  is  Barnard  such  a  very  great  friend  ?" 

Clodagh  started. 

"No!  Oh  no!  Why?"  She  turned  quickly  and 
looked  at  him. 

"Because  I  wish  to  know  why  it  should  be  Bar- 
nard?" 

There  was  a  long  silence,  in  which  she  felt  her 
heart  beat  uncomfortably  fast.  A  sudden  surprise 
— a  sudden  confusion — filled  her.  Then,  through  the 
confusion,  she  was  conscious  that  Deerehurst  was 
speaking  again. 

"Why  should  you  think  of  Barnard?"  he  mur- 
mured. "  Barnard  is  not  a  rich  man.  To  advance 
you  a  thousand  pounds  may  possibly  inconvenience 
him ;  whereas  a  man  who  need  not  consider  ways  and 
means — " 

Clodagh  sat  very  still. 

"Yes.     But  I  think—" 

"  And  why  think  ?"  He  spoke  calmly,  considerately, 
without  a  tinge  of  disturbing  emotion.  "  Why  think  ? 
Why  write  that  troublesome  letter?  Why  ask  a 
favor  when  by  granting  one — " 

"Granting  one — ?" 

"Yes.     When  by  granting  a  favor,  you  can  make 

389 


THE    GAMBLER 

everything  smooth.  Thmk  what  it  would  be  to  me, 
for  instance,  if  some  of  the  money  I  am  saddled  with 
were  used  to  bring  you  happiness — or  peace!  Think 
of  the  favor  you  would  be  doing  me!" 

She  half  rose,  then  sank  back  again. 

"Oh,  but  I  couldn't!     How  could  I  ?" 

"And  why  not?  Look!  I  have  only  to  open  my 
check-book" — he  very  quietly  drew  a  check-book 
from  his  breast-pocket — "find  the  all-powerful  pen" 
— he  searched  for  and  produced  a  gold  pen — "and — 
look!" 

He  wrote  rapidly  for  a  moment,  then  held  a  flutter- 
ing white  paper  in  front  of  Clodagh's  eyes. 

"Look!" 

With  a  little  start,  a  little  cry  of  deprecation,  she 
rose  from  her  seat.  In  a  flash  of  memory  she  re- 
called the  night  on  the  balcony  at  Venice,  when  he 
had  kissed  her  hand;  she  recalled  the  letter  she  had 
found  awaiting  her  in  her  room  at  the  hotel.  In 
sudden  fear  she  glanced  at  him.  Then  her  fear  fal- 
tered. To  her  searching  eyes  he  presented  the  same 
aspect  he  had  assumed  since  their  first  meeting  in 
London — the  aspect  of  a  tried,  deferential  friend. 

"How  could  I?"  she  asked  again;  but  uncon- 
sciously her  tone  had  weakened. 

For  answer  Deerehurst  folded  up  the  check  and 
held  it  out  to  her  with  a  respectful,  almost  a  formal, 
bow. 

"  By  extending  to  me  the  merest  act  of  friendship." 

She  sat  very  still,  not  attempting  to  take  the 
check. 

"I — I  could  not  repay  it  before  January — perhaps 
not  entirely  even  then." 

"January,  or  any  time.  I  understand  the  art  of 
patience." 

390 


I  -I   fori. I)   .NOT    Kl•l■\^    ir    hi-ioki-     i  \  \  i    \  km 


THE    GAMBLER 

For  one  moment  longer  her  uncertain  glance  wan- 
dered from  the  slip  of  paper  to  the  glowing  rose 
bushes;  from  the  roses  to  the  cold,  malignant  face  of 
the  satyr  that  confronted  her  across  the  strip  of 
grass. 

"You — you  are  very  kind.     In — in  January,  then." 
Deerehurst  bowed  again.     And  in  complete  silence 
the  check  passed  from  his  hand  to  hers. 


XXXIX 

ACTION  —  decisive  action  —  always  brings  relief. 
I  An  hour  after  it  had  come  into  her  possession 
Clodagh  had  despatched  Deerehurst's  check  to  her 
bankers  in  London;  and  when,  at  seven  o'clock,  she 
entered  Nance's  room  with  the  intention  of  dressing 
for  the  night's  festivities,  she  was  carrying  a  check 
from  her  own  book. 

As  she  came  into  the  room  Nance  was  kneeling 
before  her  trunk;  but  at  the  sound  of  the  closing 
door  she  looked  round,  and  then  sprang  to  her  feet 
with  a  cry  of  delight. 

"Clo!"  she  cried,  running  forward.  "Clo,  how 
lovely  of  you  to  come!  Shall  we  dress  together,  like 
long  ago?"  Then  her  eyes  fell  to  the  folded  slip  of 
paper  in  Clodagh's  hand.  "What  is  that?"  she 
asked,   curiously. 

Clodagh  looked  down  at  the  check. 

"I  have  come  to  do  my  duty,"  she  said,  with  a 
faint  laugh.  "  Here  is  your  thousand  pounds,  dar- 
ling. May  it  be  enough  to  buy  everything  in  life 
worth  having!" 

Her  voice  faltered  on  the  last  words ;  but  the  touch 
of  emotion  was  lost  in  a  sudden  embrace  from  Nance. 

"Oh,  you  darling  —  you  love!"  she  cried.  "A 
thousand  ^jounds!  I  feel  a  queen!"  She  drew  back 
a  little,  flushing  with  excitement  and  pleasure,  and 
opened   the  check   almost   reverently.     "And   can  I 

392 


THE    GAMBLER 

really,  really  get  a  thousand  pounds  by  signing  my 
name  on  the  back  of  this?  I  can't  believe  it,  you 
know — I  simply  can't." 

She  raised  her  shining  eyes  to  Clodagh's. 

Clodagh's  face  softened. 

"Oh,  you  child!"  she  said.  "You  child!  It 
makes  me  remember  our  weekly  pennies  just  to 
listen  to  you.  How  poor — and  how  very  happy — 
we  were  long  ago!     Do  you  remember?" 

Nance  gave  a  little  cry  of  recollection. 

"Remember,   Clo!     Could  I   forget?" 

Then  followed  another  impulsive  embrace,  a  kiss, 
and  a  whole  torrent  of  reminiscence.  And  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  had  slipped  away  before  the  entrance  of 
Simonetta,  with  Clodagh's  dress,  recalled  them  to 
the  knowledge  of  present  things. 

Five  minutes  before  the  dinner-hour  had  struck, 
the  sisters  entered  the  hall.  At  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
Nance  was  detained  by  George  Tuflfnell;  while  Clo- 
dagh,  left  alone  for  the  moment,  was  at  once  claimed 
by  Serracauld. 

He  came  forward  from  one  of  the  windows,  moving 
with  his  usual  graceful  indolence,  and,  pausing  beside 
her,  looked  intently  into  her  face. 

"You  look  radiant  to-night,"  he  said. 

She  laughed. 

"  Can  one  ever  look  radiant  in  black?" 

Serracauld's  eyes  passed  slowly  from  her  face  to  her 
slim,  white  neck. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  in  his  cool,  deliberate  voice. 

She  gave  another  laugh,  slightly  shorter  and  more 
conscious  than  the  last.  But  before  she  could  speak 
again  he  moved  a  trifle  nearer,  and  laid  his  fingers 
lightly  on  her  fan. 

"And  how  many  dances  am  I  to  have?" 

393 


THE    GAMBLER 

"I  told  you  I  must  not  dance — yet." 

"And  I  told  you  that  I  would  not  make  you  dance. 
How  many  may  I  have?" 

He  bent  very  close  to  her,  then  frowned  a  little 
and  drew  away  again  as  Lady  Frances  Hope,  fol- 
lowed by  her  special  coterie,  came  towards  them 
across  the  hall. 

"You'll  give  me  the  dances?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

Clodagh  glanced  at  the  approaching  party,  then 
bent  her  head  in  assent. 

"And  which?" 

His  tone  was  eager. 

"The  first — at  least,"  she  said. 

With  a  faint,  satisfied  smile  he  turned  and  moved 
away. 

Dinner  that  night  was  a  very  lively  meal.  Every- 
body seemed  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  the  coming 
ball,  and  anxious  to  display  a  personal  sense  of  an- 
ticipation. After  the  company  had  risen  from  table, 
Clodagh  and  Nance  met  again  in  the  hall  by  previous 
arrangement  and  retired  to  their  rooms,  that  Simo- 
netta  might  put  some  finishing  touches  to  their  hair 
and  dresses,  and  that  they  might  get  the  bouquets 
they  were  to  carry  at  the  dance. 

As  they  mounted  the  staircase  side  by  side,  Nance, 
after  the  custom  of  old  days,  slipped  her  arm  through 
her  sister's. 

"Clo,"  she  said,  softly,  "you  are  excited,  too!  I 
can  feel  it." 

Clodagh  smiled  a  little. 

"Well,  it  is  my  first  dance." 

Nance  halted  and  looked  at  her. 

"Why,  of  course  it  is!  And  you  must  feel  like  I 
did  the  night  of  Mrs.  Estcoit's  ball.  The  night — " 
She  stopped,  blushing. 

394 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Oh,  darling,"  she  added,  "fancy  my  not  reahzing 
that  you  had  never  been  to  a  dance!  It  must  feel 
lovely  and  strange  to  you!" 

Clodagh  drew  her  onward  up  the  stairs. 

"Yes;  it  does  feel  different  from  anything  else. 
Of  course,  I  sha'n't  dance;  but  then  people  may  ask 
me  to — to  sit  out." 

"May?     I  wonder  who  won't  ask  you!" 

Nance's  eyes  spoke  volumes  as  they  travelled  from 
her  sister's  face  to  the  long  lines  of  her  soft  black 
dress. 

Arrested  by  the  look,  Clodagh  spoke  again,  abrupt- 
ly, and  a  little  anxiously. 

"Nance,  why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Say  what?" 

"  That  people  would  ask  me  for  dances — that  peo- 
ple would  care?" 

Again  Nance  paused  and  looked  at  her. 

"  I  am  nearly  angry  with  you  for  asking  anything 
so  silly,"  she  said,  after  a  second's  pause.  "But  I 
won't  be.  I'll  forgive  you.  Though  you  know  per- 
fectly well  that  there  isn't  a  man  here  who  wouldn't 
sit  out — or  dance — or  do  anything  in  the  world  with 
you,  from  now  till  Doomsday." 

She  looked  up  laughingly,  but  as  she  did  so  her 
own  expression  fell. 

"Clo,  you're  angry?' 

Clodagh  patted  the  hand  that  lay  upon  her  wrist. 

"Angry,  darling?  No.  Only  thinking  how  wrong 
you  are." 

"Wrong?" 

"Yes;  I  know  one  man  who  would  not  dance  with 
me,  even  if — if  I  were  to  offer  him  a  dance — " 

She  made  the  confession  swiftly,  in  obedience  to 
a  sudden  impulse. 

395 


THE     GAMBLER 

Nance  looked  at  her  afresh  in  involuntary  curi- 
osity. 

"Clo— " 

But  Clodagh  raised  her  head  in  a  half-defiant  re- 
turn to  reticence. 

"Don't  mind  me,"  she  said.  "After  all,  no  one 
man  should  fill  anybody's  world,  should  he?  Come 
along!  It's  half-past  nine,  and  I  hear  the  first  car- 
riages." 

And  without  waiting  for  Nance  to  reply,  she  swept 
her  down  the  corridor  to  the  door  of  her  bedroom. 

The  k-resence  of  Simonetta  precluded  the  possibility 
of  further  confidences;  and  ten  minutes  later,  as  the 
sisters  again  emerged  upon  the  corridor,  the  appear- 
ance of  Lady  Frances  Hope  from  the  door  of  her  own 
room  deprived  Nance  of  the  moment  for  which  she 
had  been  waiting. 

Seeing  them,  Lady  Frances -came  forward  smil- 
ingly. 

"How  charming!"  she  said.  "A  study  in  black 
and  white!  Where  did  those  wonderful  roses  come 
from,  Clodagh  ?  They  are  nearly  as  dark  as  your 
dress?" 

Clodagh  looked  down  at  the  damask  roses  in  her 
hand. 

"Yes.  Aren't  they  nearly  black?"  she  said,  easily. 
"I  was  saying  to  Lord  Deerehurst  the  other  day  that 
there  were  no  flowers  one  could  wear  in  mourning. 
And  to-day  I  found  these  in  my  room.  He  had  wired 
for  them  to  Ambleigh.  It  was  very  thoughtful  of 
him." 

Lady  Frances  gave  an  odd  little  smile. 

"Very,"  she  said.  "I  wonder  if  he  meant  them 
to  be  mourning.  I  believe  there  was  a  language  of 
flower<=  when  he  was  young." 

396 


THE    GAMBLER 

She  gave  a  short,  amused  laugh  and  turned  to 
Nance. 

"And  this  is  your  first  EngHsh  dance,  Miss  Assh- 
Hn?" 

Nance,  whose  eyes  had  been  flashing  from  one  face 
to  the  other,  gave  a  little  start  at  being  so  suddenly 
addressed. 

"Yes — yes;  it  is.     I  came  out  in  America." 

"Then  you  can  tell  us  in  the  morning  which  men 
make  the  nicest  partners,  English  or  American." 

Nance  laughed,  and  Clodagh,  with  the  new,  pro- 
tective instinct,  put  out  her  hand  and  drew  her  close 
to  her. 

"Nance  has  made  her  choice,"  she  said,  impulsive- 
ly. "The  field  is  not  open  to  Englishmen.  But  let 
us  go  down-stairs.     We  are  barely  in  time." 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  the  three  turned  to  the 
left,  and  made  their  way  to  the  ballroom  through  the 
throng  of  arriving  guests. 

Entering  the  long  room,  they  moved  slowly  for- 
ward to  where  Lady  Diana  and  her  husband  were 
receiving  their  guests. 

Reaching  Lady  Diana's  side,  Clodagh  felt  her  heart 
beat  quicker  as  she  caught  sight  of  Gore's  fair  head 
and  tall,  straight  figure.  And  a  strange  sense  of  re- 
peated sensation  surged  about  her.  It  might  almost 
have  been  the  night  at  the  Palazzo  Ugochini,  when 
Lady  Frances  Hope  had  held  her  reception.  Her 
hand  felt  a  little  unsteady  as  she  laid  it  over  Nance's ; 
her  voice  sounded  low  and  uncertain  as  she  spoke 
her  hostess's  name. 

"Lady  Diana,"  she  said,  "here  is  Nance.  You 
told  me  to  bring  her  to  you  before  the  first  dance." 

At  her  tone,  so  very  soft  and  pleading.  Lady 
Diana  turned,  and  a  smile — the  first  real  smile  she 

397 


THE    GAMBLER 

had  given  her  since  the  episode  of  two  nights  ago — 
broke  over  her  face. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  with  sudden  geniaUty.  "Yes; 
that  is  quite  right.  Leave  her  with  me;  I  will  find 
her  the  nicest  men."  She  paused,  and  her  eyes  trav- 
elled kindly  from  Clodagh's  face  to  her  black  dress. 

"And  you?  Won't  you  have  some  partners?" 
Her  glance  swept  the  little  group  about  her.  "  Walter, 
Mrs.  Milbanke  won't  dance,  but — " 

At  the  moment  that  she  spoke,  Serracauld's  light 
voice  sounded  from  behind  them,  and  his  slim  figure 
emerged  from  the  surrounding  crowd. 

"Ah,  here  you  are,  Mrs.  Milbanke!  I  have  a 
strong  suspicion  that  I  am  only  just  in  time.  Where 
shall  we  go?  Into  the  music -room,  or  out  into 
the  garden?"  Supremely  ignoring  the  rest  of  the 
group,  he  offered  Clodagh  his  arm  and  led  her  out 
into  the  throng  at  the  moment  that  the  swaying 
notes  of  the  first  waltz  floated  down  from  the  musi- 
cians' gallery. 

With  a  faint  disappointment,  warring  with  a  faint 
elation,  Clodagh  suffered  him  to  guide  her  down  the 
long  ballroom.  Life  seemed  suddenly  a  brighter 
thing  than  it  had  seemed  for  days.  Nance  was  \v-ith 
her ;  Lady  Diana  had  smiled  on  her  again ;  and  only  a 
moment  ago  she  had  met  Gore's  eyes  in  almost  the 
first  direct  glance  they  had  exchanged  since  his  com- 
ing to  Tuffnell.  She  lifted  her  head  in  response  to  a 
sudden >  excited  happiness,  as  the  dancers  flashed  past 
her  over  the  polished  floor  and  the  deep,  long  notes 
of  the  violins  vibrated  on  the  air. 

Unconsciously  her  fingers  tightened  on  Serracauld's 
arm,  and  in  an  instant  response  he  paused. 

"Can  you  resist?"  he  said. 

She  looked  up  at  him.     The  color  had  rushed  into 

398 


THE    GAMBLER 

her  face  with  the  emotion  of  the  moment.  An  in- 
ordinate longing  to  be  young — to  enjoy— to  be  as 
the  crowd  about  her — swept  her  mind  imperiously. 

A  peculiar  look  crossed  Serracauld's  eyes. 

"Just  for  two  minutes?"  he  whispered.  "No  one 
will  see  you  in  the  first  crush.  There  is  no  waltz  like 
this!"  Almost  before  she  was  aware  of  it,  he  had 
slipped  his  arm  round  her  waist. 

For  one  instant  a  gleam  of  surprise — of  alarm — 
showed  in  her  face;  then  the  long,  persuasive  notes 
of  the  stringed  instruments  dropped  to  a  lower,  more 
enticing  key.  She  yielded  to  the  pressure  of  Serra- 
cauld's arm,  and  the  two  glided  in  among  the  dancers. 

They  made  the  half-circuit  of  the  room,  escaping 
the  observation  of  the  house-party  at  its  farther  end, 
and  as  they  reached  the  door  Clodagh  pressed  her 
hand  detainingly  on  his  arm. 

He  paused. 

"Tired?"  he  asked,  looking  down  into  her  flushed 
face  and  brilliant  eyes. 

She  shook  her  head  faintly.  Her  heart  was  still 
beating  too  fast — her  brain  still  felt  too  elated — to 
notice  the  ardor  and  the  intentness  of  his  glance. 

"We  must  stop,"  she  said,  softly.  "You  know, 
even  the  two  minutes  were  stolen." 

He  slowly  withdrew  his  arm  from  her  waist,  but 
still  kept  his  eyes  on  hers. 

"  I  suppose  all  the  things  in  life  worth  having  are 
come  by  dishonestly,"  he  said,  lightly.  Then,  in  a 
lower  tone,  he  added,  "  Do  you  know  that  you  dance 
— gloriously  ?" 

Clodagh  made  no  answer.  Her  mind  was  more 
occupied  with  the  dance  just  gone  through  than  with 
the  partner  who  had  shared  it.  And  for  the  moment 
Serracauld  was  content  with  her  silence. 

399 


THE    GAMBLER 

Leaving  the  ballroom,  they  passed  together  down 
a  long  corridor  that  ended  in  a  short  flight  of  stairs, 
leading  to  the  card-room. 

At  the  foot  of  these  stairs  Serracauld  paused, 
struck  by  a  new  idea. 

"Suppose  we  look  into  the  card-room?"  he  said. 
"  I  believe  it  will  be  deserted  at  this  early  hour." 

Clodagh  assented. 

"If  you  like,"  she  said.  "It  would  be  rather  nice 
to  find  a  quiet  spot."  And,  leading  the  way  with 
careless  unconcern,  she  began  to  mount  the   stairs. 

The  door  of  the  card-room  was  open.  The  baize- 
covered  tables  were  arranged  for  play;  but  only  one 
small,  green-shaded  lamp  had  been  hghted;  and  the 
window  was  uncurtained  and  open  to  the  still  sum- 
mer night. 

She  paused  on  the  threshold,  and  Serracauld  stepped 
quickly  to  her  side. 

"It  might  almost  have  been  arranged  for  us,"  he 
said.     "Won't  you  go  in?" 

She  waited  for  a  moment  longer;  then  she  walked 
slowly  forward  and  paused  beside  one  of  the  tables. 

Very  quietly  her  companion  closed  the  door,  and, 
crossing  the  room  softly,  paused  close  behind  her. 

"Do  you  know  that  you  dance  gloriously?"  he 
said  again.  "But  I  always  knew  you  would.  A 
waltz  with  you  is  one  of  the  things  I  promised  my- 
self a  long  time  ago." 

As  he  spoke,  Clodagh  was  conscious  that  his  shoul- 
der almost  brushed  hers.  With  a  faintly  uneasy  move- 
ment she  raised  her  head. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked,  turning  and 
meeting  his  eyes. 

In  the  dim  light  of  the  room  there  was  something 
curious,   new,    and   alarming   in   the   glance   she   en- 

400 


THE     GAMBLER 

countered.  He  was  standing  exceedingly  near;  his 
face  looked  very  pale;  the  pupils  of  his  eyes  were 
dilated,  giving  them  a  peculiar,  unfamiliar  look. 

Embarrassed,  and  yet  doubtful  that  her  embar- 
rassment was  justified,  she  turned  away,  and,  ner- 
vously taking  a  pack  of  cards  from  the  table,  began 
to  pass  them  through  her  fingers. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said  again. 
"I  don't  understand." 

Quite  suddenly  Serracauld  laughed,  and,  passing 
his  arms  over  hers,  caught  her  hands,  so  that  the 
cards  fluttered  to  the  table. 

"Nonsense!"  he  said,  in  a  sharp,  whispering  voice. 
"Nonsense!  The  prettiest  woman  of  the  season  not 
understand!" 

He  laughed  again,  and  with  a  swift  movement  freed 
her  hands,  and,  clasping  her  suddenly  and  closely, 
forced  her  head  backward  and  bent  his  face  to  hers. 

The  action  was  not  so  much  a  kiss  as  a  vehement, 
almost  painful,  pressure  of  his  lips  upon  her  mouth — 
something  that  stung  her  to  resentment  rather  than 
to  fear — to  revolt  rather  than  to  shame. 

For  one  instant  she  remained  passive;  the  next 
she  had  freed  herself  with  the  muscular  activity  that 
had  always  belonged  to  her  slight,  supple  frame. 

As  she  drew  away  from  him  she  was  trembling,  and 
her  face  was  white;  but  there  was  a  look  he  had 
never  imagined  in  her  eyes  and  on  her  lips.  For 
one  moment  it  seemed  that  she  meant  to  speak. 
Then  her  lips  closed.  She  turned  away  from  him 
and  walked  out  of  the  room  without  a  word. 

a6 


XL 

HARDLY   conscious  of  her  movements,  Clodagh 
left  the  card-room  and  passed  down  the  corridor. 

Her  only  tangible  sensations  were  anger  and  self- 
contempt.  The  thought  that  Serracauld,  who  had 
seemed  less  than  nothing  in  the  scheme  of  her  Hfe— 
Serracauld,  with  whom  she  had  laughed  and  jested 
and  flirted  because  he  was  a  boy  and  of  no  account — 
should  have  treated  her  Hghtly,  should  have  pre- 
sumed to  kiss  her,  to  seize  her  violently  in  his 
arms,  was  something  shameful  and  intolerable.  The 
simplicity  of  her  up-bringing — the  uncontaminated 
childhood  that  her  country  had  given  her — rose  to 
confront  her  in  this  newest  crisis.  Vain,  frivolous, 
foolish  she  might  be,  but  beneath  the  vanity,  the 
frivolity,  the  folly  she  was — and  always  had  been — 
good  in  the  primitive,  fundamental  sense  of  the  word. 

She  hurried  down  the  corridor  and  down  the  stair- 
case that  she  had  ascended  so  short  a  time  before, 
but,  reaching  the  ground-floor,  she  did  not  turn  tow- 
ards the  ballroom,  from  which  the  sound  of  the  vio- 
lins still  floated.  Instinctively,  she  moved  in  the 
opposite  direction,  towards  the  quieter  portion  of  the 
house  in  which  stood  the  music-room. 

The  door  of  the  room  was  closed  when  sh-^  reached 
it,  and  no  sound  came  to  her  from  within.  For  a 
space  she  stood  hesitating  outside;  then  the  distant 
murmur  of  talk  and  laughter  roused  her  to  action. 

402 


THE    GAMBLER 

Her  hesitancy  fled  before  her  distaste  for  companion- 
ship. She  raised  her  hand  and  noiselessly  opened  the 
door. 

To  enter  the  musrc-room  was  to  enter  a  region  of 
romance.  For,  as  the  card-room  up-stairs  suggested 
the  world  and  the  things  of  the  world,  this  room 
seemed  to  embrace  all  the  repose,  all  the  dignity,  all 
the  peace  that  such  places  as  Tuffnell  gather  unto 
themselves  with  the  passage  of  time.  It  was  a  long, 
low-ceiled  room  with  wainscoted  walls  and  a  polished 
oak  floor,  and  the  first  object  that  met  the  visitor's 
eye  was  an  old  harpsichord,  mutely  eloquent  of  by- 
gone days,  for,  with  rare  good  taste,  Lady  Diana  had 
hidden  her  piano  behind  a  tapestry  screen  worked 
many  centuries  ago  by  another  lady  of  the  house. 
Even  on  this  night  of  festivity  the  place  retained  its 
peculiar  quiet;  only  half  a  dozen  candles  burned  in 
the  sconces  that  hung  upon  the  walls,  and  the  scent 
of  lavender  and  dried  rose-leaves  lingered  upon  the 
air. 

It  seemf^d  what  it  was — a  room  in  which,  for  num- 
berless generations,  women  of  refinement  had  made 
music,  read  poetry,  or  sung  songs,  while  they  wove 
about  them  the  indescribable  atmosphere  of  home. 

And  into  this  room  Clodagh  stepped,  her  heart 
burning,  her  mind  distressed,  pained,  and  hurt. 

For  an  instant  she  paused  upon  the  threshold, 
overwhelmed  by  the  contrast  between  the  aloofness, 
the  graceful  repose  of  the  place,  and  tumult  of  her 
own  thoughts;  then,  yielding  to  the  spirit  of  peace, 
she  closed  the  door  resolutely  and  went  forward  into 
the  room. 

But  at  sound  of  the  closing  door,  at  sound  of  her 
dress  upon  the  polished  floor,  an  answering  sound 
came  from  behind  the  tapestry  screen — the  noise  of 

403 


THE    GAMBLER 

a  chair  being  quietly  pushed  back— of  some  one  ris- 
ing to  his  feet. 

In  sudden  consternation  she  stopped.  For  one 
instant  she  glanced  behind  her,  contemplating  flight ; 
the  next,  a  faint  exclamation  of  surprise — the  merest 
audible  breath — escaped  her,  and  her  figure  became 
motionless. 

The  occupant  of  the  room  came  quietly  round  the 
screen,  and  in  the  uncertain  light  of  the  candles  she 
recognized  Gore. 

The  position  was  unusual;  the  moment  was  un- 
usual. For  the  first  time  since  the  night  at  the 
Palazzo  Ugochini  they  were  entirely  alone;  for  the 
first  time  since  the  night  at  the  Palazzo  Ugochini 
they  looked  at  each  other  without  the  commentary 
of  other  eyes — without  the  atmosphere  of  convention- 
al things. 

Involuntarily,  inevitably,  their  eyes  met.  Clo- 
dagh  looked  into  his;  and  in  the  contact  of  glances  it 
seemed  that  a  miracle  came  to  pass.  By  power  of 
that  magnetism  that  indisputably  exists — the  mag- 
netism that  draws  certain  natures  irrevocably  to- 
gether, although  circumstance  and  time  may  delay 
their  union— she  saw  the  gleam  of  comprehension,  of 
question,  of  acknowledgment  spring  from  his  eyes  to 
hers,  and  she  knew,  without  the  need  of  words, 
that  he  stood  within  the  circle  of  her  power,  that, 
whether  with  or  against  his  will,  his  personality 
claimed  response  from  hers. 

She  did  not  move,  for  it  seemed  to  her,  in  that  in- 
stant of  understanding,  that  her  life  and  his  were 
mysteriously  suspended.  Her  heart  beat  extraor- 
dinarily fast,  yet  her  mental  vision  was  curiously 
clear.  By  the  light  of  her  recent  misgivings,  by  the 
light  of  her  sudden  confidence,  she  seemed  to  see  and 

404 


THE    GAMBLER 

to  read  herself  and  him  with  a  strange  and  vivid 
clearness.  Some  power,  tangible  yet  invincibly  com- 
pelling, drew  them  together.  In  the  personal  scheme 
of  things  there  were  only  two  persons — he  and  she. 
Beyond  the  walls  of  the  music-room  life  swept  for- 
ward as  relentlessly,  as  rapidly  as  before;  but  inside 
the  walls  of  the  music-room  there  were  only  he  and 
she. 

Almost  unconsciously  she  took  a  step  towards  him. 

"Do  vou  remember  that  night  in  Venice?"  she 
asked.  "The  night  you  said  all  the  things  that 
sounded  so  hard,  and  hurt  so  much,  and — and  were 
so  true?" 

She  did  not  know  why  she  had  spoken.  She  did 
not  know  how  she  had  framed  her  words.  She  only 
knew  that,  exalted  by  the  consciousness  of  great 
good  within  her  reach,  she  was  moved  to  dare 
greatly. 

It  was  the  moment  of  her  life.  The  moment  when 
all  social  barriers  of  prejudice  and  of  etiquette  fell 
away  before  a  tremendous  self-knowledge.  She  re- 
alized in  that  space  of  time  that  her  thoughts  of 
Gore  —  her  attraction  towards  him,  her  reluctant 
admiration — had  been  insensibly  leading  up  to  this 
instant  of  action,  that  on  the  evening  when  they 
stood  together  on  the  terrace  of  the  hotel  at  Venice, 
and  watched  the  night  steal  in  from  the  lagoon,  it 
had  been  irrevocably  written  in  the  book  of  fate  that 
they  should  one  day  look  into  each  other's  hearts — 
for  happiness  or  sorrow. 

"Do  you  remember  that  night  in  Venice?"  she 
said  again,  almost  below  her  breath.  And  in  the 
pause  that  followed  the  whispered  words  the  most 
wonderful — the  most  wholly  perfect — incident  of  her 
life  occurred.     The  voice  that  had  power  to  chill  or 

405 


THE    GAMBLER 

stir  her  spoke  her  name;  the  hands  she  had  beUeved 
closed    to   her   forever   were   held    out   towards   her. 
Gore  came  slowly  forward  across  the  shadowed  room. 
"I   do  remember,"   he  said.     "I  have  never  for 
gotten.     I  never  shall  forget." 


XLI 


NEARLY  three  weeks  had  passed  since  the  night 
of  Lady  Diana  Tuffnell's  dance,  and  Clodagh 
was  once  more  occupying  her  London  flat. 

The  season  was  long  since  dead,  the  fashionable 
world  had  betaken  itself  to  its  customary  haunts; 
London  had,  in  the  eyes  of  society,  become  intoler- 
able; and  yet  it  seemed  to  her,  as  she  woke  each  morn- 
ing and  looked  across  the  park,  lying  under  a  haze  of 
heat,  that  she  had  never  known  the  great  city  until 
now,  that  she  had  never  experienced  the  exhilaration 
that  can  lie  in  its  crowded,  strenuous  life  until  now, 
when  her  own  existence,  her  own  soul,  seemed  lifted 
above  it  on  the  wings  of  happiness. 

For  the  hours,  the  days,  the  weeks  that  had  fol- 
lowed the  night  of  Lady  Diana's  dance  had  been  a 
chain  of  golden  dreams  linked  one  to  the  other.  From 
the  moment  that  Gore  had  made  his  confession  the 
face  of  the  world  had  altered  for  her.  One  over- 
whelming fact  had  colored  the  universe  —  the  fact 
that  he  loved,  that  he  needed  her. 

They  had  entered  into  no  lucid  erclanations  in  the 
moments  that  had  followed  the  confession,  for  men 
and  women  in  love  have  no  need  of  such  mundane 
things.  With  the  glorious  egotism  of  nature,  they 
are  content  with  the  primitive  consciousness  that  each 
lives  and  is  close  to  the  other. 

Clodagh  had,  it  is  true,  made  some  faint  and  dep- 

407 


THE    GAMBLER 

recating  allusion  to  the  past — to  Gore's  first  disap- 
proval and  subsequent  avoidance  of  her.  And  he 
had  paused  in  his  flow  of  talk  and  looked  at  her  with 
sudden  seriousness. 

"I  have  never  disapproved  of  you,"  he  had  said. 
"I  have  never  felt  it  was  my  place  to  disapprove." 

"But  you  have  avoided  me?" 

"  Never  intentionally.  I  have  watched  you,  I  have 
studied  you,  since  we  have  been  here  together." 

"And  what  have  you  seen?" 

Clodagh  had  remembered  the  card-room  and  Ser- 
racauld — the  rose-garden  and  Deerehurst— with  a 
quick,  faint  sense  of  fear. 

But  Gore  had  taken  her  hand  and,  with  quiet 
courtesy,  had  raised  it  to  his  lips. 

"I  have  seen — or  believe  I  have  seen — that  though 
you  may  like  these  people,  may  be  amused  by  them, 
may  even  court  them,  not  one  of  them  is  more  to  you 
now  than  they  were  in  Venice.  That  is  what  I  be- 
lieve.    Am  I  right?" 

And  Clodagh,  in  sudden  relief,  in  sudden  gratitude 
for  his  faith,  had  caught  his  hand  passionately  be- 
tween her  own  and  looked  up  confidently  into  his 
face. 

"You  are  right!"  she  had  cried.  "Oh,  you  are 
right!  They  are  nothing  to  me!  Nothing!  Noth- 
mg! 

And  Gore,  moved  by  her  vehemence,  had  leaned 
forward  and  looked  deeply  into  the  eyes  that  chal- 
lenged his 

"  Not  one  of  them  is  anything  to  you — in  any  way  ?" 

"  Not  one  of  them  is  anything  to  me — in  any  way." 

That  had  been  the  only  moment  of  personal  doubt 
or  question  that  had  obtruded  itself  upon  the  first 
hours  of  mutual   comprehension.     Until   more  than 

408 


THE    GAMBLER 

half  the  programme  had  been  danced  through,  and 
the  older  guests  had  begun  to  depart,  they  had  walked 
together  up  and  down  the  solitary  paths  of  the  old 
garden  upon  which  the  music-room  opened — a  garden 
where  thyme  and  lavender  and  a  hundred  other  sweet- 
smelling  plants  bordered  the  prim  flower-beds  and  re- 
called bv  their  scents  the  days  when  the  harpsichord 
had  tinkled  out  across  the  silence  of  the  night.  As 
they  paced  slowly  to  and  fro  they  had  made  many 
confessions,  sweet  in  the  confessing,  of  thoughts  and 
desires  and  doubts  felt  by  each — when  each  had  be- 
lieved the  other  out  of  reach;  and  quietly,  hesitating- 
ly, eagerly  they  had  touched  upon  the  future,  upon 
the  days  when  Clodagh's  mourning  should  be  over 
and  they  could  permit  the  world  to  share  their 
secret — upon  the  days,  still  later,  when  their  lives 
should  no  longer  be  separate  things  but  one  perfect 
whole. 

Gore  was  an  unusual  and  a  very  delightful  lover. 
The  slight  suggestion  of  reticence  that  marked  him  in 
ordinary  life  clung  to  him  even  in  these  intimate  mo- 
ments. He  gave  the  impression  that  behind  his  ex- 
treme quiet,  his  almost  gentle  deference  of  manner, 
lay  reserves  of  feeling,  of  dignity,  of  strength  that  he 
himself  had,  perhaps,  never  fathomed. 

And  for  this  very  reserve,  this  courtliness,  this  inde- 
scribable fineness  of  bearing,  Clodagh  felt  her  own 
nature  leap  forth  in  renewed  admiration. 

At  last,  at  one  o'clock,  they  had  parted,  he  to 
smoke  and  pace  the  garden  paths  until  the  early  sum- 
mer dawn  broke  over  the  woods,  she  to  wait  by  the 
open  window  of  Nance's  bedroom,  with  her  face  buried 
in  her  hands,  her  whole  being  alive  and  tingling  with 
the  tumult,  the  excitement  of  the  joy  that  had  come 
to  her. 

409 


THE    GAMBLER 

At  six  o'clock  next  morning,  before  any  member 
of  the  house-party  was  awake,  Gore  had  made  his  way 
to  the  stables,  and  a  few  minutes  later  had  emerged, 
leading  two  saddled  horses.  In  the  drive  he  had  been 
joined  by  Clodagh,  dressed  in  her  riding-habit,  and 
looking  fresh  and  buoyant  as  on  the  first  morning 
when  she  had  ridden  alone  through  the  great  gates 
and  had  dreamed  of  his  coming  to  Tuffnell. 

No  companionship  can  be  more  delightful  than 
that  of  two  people  wholly  occupied  with  each  other 
who  ride  together  on  a  summer  morning.  To  Clo- 
dagh, the  frank  happiness  of  that  stolen  ride,  the 
intoxicating  sense  of  reality  conveyed  by  Gore's 
glance  as  she  met  it  in  the  searching  sunlight,  had 
been  things  that  possessed  no  parallel.  Her  natural, 
spontaneous  capacity  for  joy  had  wakened  within 
her  like  a  f^ood  of  light.  The  misgivings,  the  dark 
hours — the  feverish  artificiality  of  the  past  months 
had  been  dispersed  as  if  by  magic.  She  had  become 
as  a  child  who,  by  the  fervor  of  its  own  delight,  sheds 
delight  upon  all  around. 

And  so  it  had  been  with  the  days  that  had  elapsed 
before  their  departure  from  Buckinghamshire.  They 
had  met  as  often  as  chance  would  permit,  but,  with 
the  exception  of  the  first  stolen  ride,  they  had  ar- 
ranged no  more  secret  meetings.  And  to  Clodagh  the 
half -furtive,  ever- expectant  existence  had  been 
fraught  with  new  pleasure.  To  talk  and  laugh  with 
others,  to  watch  Gore  do  likewise,  and  all  the  while 
to  know  that,  unseen  by  any  eyes,  unsuspected  by 
those  around  them,  their  lives  were  linked  together, 
their  thoughts  belonged  to  each  other,  was  a  source 
of  intense  excitement,  of  unending  joy. 

To  Nance  alone  did  she  confide  her  secret,  and  here 
lay  another  source  of  happiness.     For  every  night, 

410 


THE    GAMBLER 

when  the  house-party  had  retired,  when  Simonetta 
had  been  dismissed,  and  the  house  given  over  to  the 
great,  sheltering  stillness  of  the  country,  the  sisters 
had  exchanged  such  confidences  as  all  women  love — 
talking  of  their  hopes,  their  fears,  their  pasts,  their 
futures,  in  the  half-reluctant,  half-eager  confessions 
that  the  dark  suggests. 

Then  at  last  these  days  of  mystery  and  possibility 
had  come  to  an  end.  Gore  had  received  a  letter  from 
his  mother  asking  him  to  join  her  in  Scotland,  and 
almost  at  the  same  hour  had  come  a  cablegram  from 
Pierce  Estcoit  saying  that  he,  with  his  mother  and 
sister,  had  sailed  for  England  a  fortnight  earlier  than 
they  had  at  first  intended. 

So,  bidding  good-bye  to  the  TufiEnells,  to  her  fellow- 
guests,  and  to  Gore,  Clodagh  had  returned  to  Lon- 
don. And  now,  a  fortnight  later,  she  and  Nance  were 
driving  homeward  through  the  park  in  the  warmth 
of  an  early  afternoon. 

The  morning  had  been  devoted  to  the  preparation 
of  Nance's  trousseau — a  matter  which,  in  these  davs, 
claimed  absorbed  attention — and,  later,  the  sisters  had 
lunched  together  at  one  of  the  restaurants. 

The  day,  or  at  least  the  earlier  portion  of  it,  had 
been  a  complete  success.  But  now,  as  Clodagh 's 
motor-car  sped  along  under  the  canopy  of  trees,  al- 
ready whitened  with  summer  dust,  a  cloud  seemed 
to  have  fallen  upon  the  sisters'  gayety.  Clo- 
dagh lay  back  in  her  corner,  her  lips  set,  looking 
straight  in  front  of  her;  Nance  sat  stiffly  upright, 
her  face  flushed,  her  head  held  at  an  aggressive 
angle. 

At  last,  unable  to  maintain  the  silence  longer,  she 
turned  and  looked  at  her  sister. 

"It — it  seems  to  me  so  stupid,"  she  said. 

411 


THE    GAMBLER 

Clodagh  took  up  a  parasol  that  lay  beside  her  and 
opened  it  with  a  little  jerk. 

"Was  it  my  fault  that  he  lunched  at  'Prince's'? 
Was  it  my  fault  that  he  sat  at  the  table  next  to  ours  ? 
You  know  perfectly  well  that  I  don't  care  where  he 
lunches — or  whether  he  ever  lunches — " 

Nance  maintained  her  rigid  attitude. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  is  of  that  opinion  ?"  she  said,  dryly. 

Clodagh  flushed  suddenly. 

"  It  is  you  who  are  being  stupid.  Lord  Deerehurst 
is  one  of  my  best  friends.  It's  impossible  to  treat 
him  rudely  when  we  chance  to  meet." 

Nance  gave  a  little,  angry  laugh. 

"When  you  chance  to  meet!"  she  repeated,  with 
immense  scorn.  Then  she  turned  afresh  and  looked 
at  her  sister.  "Do  you  think  engaged  people  ought 
to  have  best  friends?  I  wonder  what  Pierce  would 
say  if  I  were  to  get  flowers  and  books  and  things  every 
day — " 

Clodagh  shut  her  parasol  sharply. 

"How  can  you,  Nance!  Books  and  flowers  and 
things  every  day!  Four  times  Lord  Deerehurst  has 
sent  me  flowers  since  we  came  back  to  town." 

"And  how  many  times  has  he  written  to  you  ?  And 
how  many  times  has  he  called  ?  And  why  did  he  come 
back  to  town  from  Tuffnell,  instead  of  going  to  France 
with  Mr.  Serracauld  ?" 

Clodagh  looked  away  across  the  park. 

"He  had  business  in  town." 

"Business!  Was  it  business  that  brought  him  to 
the  flat  at  nine  o'clock  the  morning  after  we  arrived 
— and  that  made  you  ride  with  him?  Oh,  Clo,  I 
wonder,  when  you  think  of  Walter,  that  you're  — 
you're  not  ashamed!"  She  brought  the  last  word 
forth  with  a  little  gasp. 

412 


THE    GAMBLER 

For  a  moment  Clodagh's  face  was  suffused  with 
red. 

"I  do  not  need  anybody  to  tell  me  how  I  should 
care  for  Walter,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's  pause. 

At  the  low,  hurt  tone,  Nance's  antagonistic  atti- 
tude suddenly  deserted  her.  The  expression  of  her 
face  changed,  her  figure  unbent. 

"Clo!  Clo!  I  was  a  wretch!  I  was  a  wretch! 
Forgive  me!  It's  only  that,  knowing  Walter  is  com- 
ing back  to-morrow,  knowing  that  he  hates  Lord 
Deerehurst,  and  seeing  you  allowing  him  to  go  every- 
where that  you  go — oh,  Clo,  I  can't  properly  explain, 
but  sometimes  I  have  felt — afraid.  Walter  is  so — 
so  honorable  himself." 

Clodagh  put  out  her  hand  and  laid  it  for  a  moment 
upon  her  sister's. 

"When  one  loves  like  I  do,  Nance,"  she  said,  "one 
simply  doesn't  see  anybody  but  the  person  that  one 
cares  for.  Other  people  don't  count — other  people 
don't  exist." 

Nance  looked  down  at  the  hand  still  resting  upon 
her  own. 

"Perhaps  not,"  she  said,  wisely,  "but  the  point  is 
that  the  person  one  cares  for  may  not  be  quite  so 
bhnd." 

Clodagh  withdrew  her  hand. 

"You  mean  that  Walter  might  imagine — you 
mean  that  Walter  might  be  jealous  of  Lord  Deere- 
hurst?" 

"I  did  mean  that." 

With  a  sudden  gesture  of  amusement  Clodagh 
threw  up  her  head  and  laughed.  Then  almost  as 
suddenly  her  face  became  grave. 

"Nance,"  she  said,  in  a  new  voice. 

Very  sharply  Nance  turned. 

413 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Yes?" 

But  Clodagh's  mood  had  veered  once  more. 

"Nothing,  darUng,"  she  said.  "Nothing.  Here 
we  are  at  home.  Aren't  you  longing  for  a  nice,  cool 
room  and  a  cup  of  tea?" 


XLII 

THE  fragmentary  quarrel  between  the  sisters  was 
very  suggestive.  Nance's  anger  and  Clodagh's 
irritable  repudiation  of  her  advice  had  each  been 
fraught  with  its  own  significance.  For,  much  as  the 
former  might  busy  herself  in  the  happiness  of  her 
own  engagement  and  the  preparations  for  her  mar- 
riage, she  could  not  blind  herself  to  the  fact  that  Clo- 
dagh  was  acting,  if  not  with  genuine  folly,  at  least 
with  something  that  might  readily  be  mistaken  for 
it;  and,  much  as  the  latter  might  resent  a  criticism  of 
her  action,  she  could  not  mentally  deny  that  possibly 
the  criticism  was  justified. 

Yet,  when  the  matter  came  to  be  sifted,  it  was  hard 
to  say  exactly  the  point  to  which  exception  could 
reasonably  be  taken. 

Undoubtedly,  Deerehurst  did  obtrude  himself  with 
curious — with  almost  intimate — frequency  into  the 
plans  of  each  day;  but  then  the  intrusion  was  so 
natural,  so  simple,  so  subtle,  if  one  might  use  so  ex- 
treme a  word.  If  London  is  large  in  one  sense  it  is 
socially  as  small  as  any  other  capital,  and  the  man 
who  wishes  to  seek  the  society  of  a  member  of  his 
own  set  finds  his  way  rendered  very  easy. 

And  in  all  matters  of  tact  and  subtlety  Deerehurst 
was  an  adept.  If  in  Nance's  eyes  his  comings  and 
goings  were  things  to  cavil  at,  he  knew  exactly  how 
to  arrange  them  for  Clodagh's  consideration,  so  that 

415 


THE    GAMBLER 

the  gift  of  a  bunch  of  flowers,  the  offer  of  seats  at  a 
theatre,  the  loan  of  a  house,  or  the  retailing  of  an 
amusing  bit  of  gossip  seemed  the  merest  courtesies 
from  one  friend  to  another.  For  in  one  fact  lay  his 
advantage,  the  fact  of  a  really  great  favor,  secretly 
given  and  secretly  accepted,  in  comparison  with  which 
all  trivial  civilities  became  as  nothing. 

Not  that  he  ever  pressed  this  advantage  home. 
He  was  far  too  wise  to  allude  to  it  by  look  or  word. 
But  the  very  passivity  of  his  attitude  served  to  fix 
the  consciousness  of  his  generosity  deeper  in  Clo- 
dagh's  mind.  Not  that  the  knowledge  of  it  galled 
her;  she  was  too  exultantly  happy  in  her  own  life  to 
be  hampered  by  any  debt.  But  the  knowledge  of 
its  existence  was  there — unconsciously  bearing  upon 
her  ideas  and  her  actions. 

On  the  morning  following  her  return  from  Tuffnell, 
a  faint  thrill  of  surprise  and  uneasiness  had  touched 
her  when  her  eyes  had  fallen  upon  a  big,  square  en- 
velope, bearing  a  black  coronet,  that  lay  among  her 
letters  on  the  breakfast-table.  And  another  remem- 
brance of  Venice  had  caused  her  fingers  to  tremble 
slightly  as  she  tore  the  letter  open. 

But  at  the  first  line  her  face  had  cleared,  her  con- 
fidence in  life  and  in  herself  had  flowed  back  in  full 
tide.  There  was  not  a  word  in  the  letter  that  Gore 
himself  might  not  have  read. 

So  great  had  been  her  relief  that  a  new  wave  of 
kindly  feeling  for  Deerehurst  had  awakened  in  her 
mind,  and  when,  on  the  following  morning,  he  had 
joined  her  in  her  early  ride,  she  had  received  him 
with   friendly  warmth. 

And  from  that  things  had  drifted,  until  Deere- 
hurst's  presence — Deerehurst's  discreet,  deferential, 
amusing   personality — had   become   a   factor   in   the 

416 


THE    GAMBLER 

day's  routine.  The  Estcoits  had  arrived  from  Amer- 
ica, and,  with  their  advent,  she  had  been  compelled 
to  see  less  of  Nance;  the  majority  of  her  friends  had 
already  left  town,  so  that  even,  had  she  desired  the 
old  existence,  amusements  and  occupations  were  less 
easy  to  find  than  they  had  been  a  month  ago.  There 
was,  of  course,  her  daily  letter  from  Gore — the  most 
precious  thing  in  her  existence — and  there  was  also 
her  daily  letter  to  him.  But  even  a  woman  in  love 
cannot  read  and  write — or  even  dream — all  day,  and 
in  the  intervals  of  idleness  there  invariably  seemed 
to  be — Deerehurst. 

But  now  at  last  the  day  had  arrived  upon  which 
Gore  was  to  return  to  London.  It  was  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  the  hot  summer  air  beating  upon 
the  green-and-white  sun-blinds  of  the  fiat ;  and  Nance 
was  standing  at  a  table  in  the  window,  arranging  a 
bowl  of  heliotrope,  when  Clodagh  opened  the  door  of 
the  drawing-room. 

She  was  dressed  in  her  riding-habit,  her  riding- 
crop  was  under  one  arm,  and  as  she  came  forward  into 
the  room  she  was  drawing  off  a  pair  of  chamois  gloves. 

"  He  hasn't  come  ?"  she  asked,  quickly.  "  Oh,  I'm 
so  glad!  I  was  terrified  that  that  last  gallop  might 
have  made  me  late.  How  lovely  life  is!"  She  came 
quickly  across  the  room,  and,  linking  her  arm  in 
Nance's,  buried  her  face  in  the  heliotrope.  "How 
lovely  life  is!  And  summer!  And  flowers!  Do 
you  know,  the  sun  to-day  made  me  long  for  Orris- 
town!  Think  of  it  all,  Nance!  Burke  and  Hannah, 
and  Polly  and  the  dogs!  Oh,  we  must  all  go  there 
together— you  and  I  and  Pierce  and  Walter — "  She 
paused  suddenly  and  looked  at  her  sister.  "Nance! 
You're  cross!" 

Nance  refused  to  look  u]). 
"  417 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Nance,  you're  cross!"  Her  voice  was  less  sure — 
less  confident. 

Nance  caught  the  tone  of  hesitancy,  and  turned 
quickly  round. 

"I  wish  Walter  had  driven  through  the  park  ten 
minutes  ago,"  she  said.     "I  do— I  really,  really  do." 

Clodagh's  face  flamed,  and  she  drew  away  from 
her  sister. 

"And  I  wish — "  she  began,  hotly.  Then  she 
patised. 

The  door  of  the  drawing-room  was  thrown  open, 
and  Gore  was  announced. 

For  one  instant  Clodagh  stood  hesitating,  with  a 
new  and  charming  diffidence;  the  next,  all  thoughts 
of  self  were  blotted  out  by  the  consciousness  of  his 
presence  —  his  bright,  strong  presence,  typified  by 
his  frank  eyes,  his  clear,  healthy  skin,  his  close- 
cropped,  fair  hair.  With  a  little  exclamation  of 
greeting  she  hurried  towards  him. 

In  quick,  warm  response  he  took  both  her  hands. 

"Well!"  he  said.  "Well!  It's  good  to  see  you. 
How  splendid  you  look!  And  Nance,  too!"  He 
turned  to  the  window  with  quiet  cordiality. 

"Can  Nance  find  time  to  shake  hands  with  a  mere 
Englishman?" 

Nance  laid  down  the  bunch  of  heliotrope  she  was 
still  holding. 

And  at  the  same  moment  Clodagh  looked  round 
impulsively.     • 

"Nance  and  I  were  quarrelling,"  she  said. 

"  Quarrelling!  What  on  earth  about  ?"  Gore  looked 
amusedly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Oh,  about—" 

But  Nance  interrupted  by  stepping  quickly  for- 
ward. 

418 


THE    GAMBLER 

"About  nothing,"  she  said,  hastily.  "How  are 
you,  Walter?  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you!  But  I  must 
wash  my  hands  before  I  even  try  to  talk.  Heliotrope 
is  much  stickier  than  you'd  think."  She  looked  down 
at  her  fingers,  then  laughed  and  moved  across  the 
room.  But  as  Gore  hurried  forward  to  open  the 
door  for  her,  she  glanced  up  into  his  face  with  an  al- 
most serious  look. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  have  come  back,"  she  whispered. 
"Make  up  to  her  for  the  time  you've  been  away." 

Gore's  feelings  were  very  pleasant,  very  protective 
as  he  closed  the  door  and  turned  back  into  the  room. 
He  was  too  essentially  an  Englishman  to  be  demon- 
strative, but  the  leaven  of  sentiment  that  so  often 
lies  in  the  English  character  had  always  held  a  place 
in  his  nature.  In  confessing  his  love  to  Clodagh,  in 
acknowledging  that  love  to  himself,  he  had  indis- 
putably swept  aside  some  difficulties  —  difficulties 
born  of  inherent  prejudice,  of  a  certain  stiff-necked 
distrust  of  what  he  had  begun  by  criticising.  But 
they  had  been  thrust  aside.  He  had  acknowledged 
himself  stirred  to  the  depths  of  nature  by  something 
brilliant  and  vivid  in  her  personality.  He  had  made 
his  choice. 

His  whole  expression,  his  whole  bearing  was  at- 
tractive as  he  came  towards  her;  he  seemed  to  carry 
about  him  a  breath  of  the  country — the  clean,  open 
spaces  of  the  country.  And  her  heart  gave  a  throb 
of  pride  and  satisfaction,  of  complete,  ungrudging 
admiration,  as  he  took  her  hands  again  and  drew  her 
to  him. 

' '  Well ! "  he  said ,  fondly.  ' '  Well !  Have  you  really 
missed  me  as  much  as  your  letters  said  ?" 

For  a  moment  she  remained  silent,  drinking  in  the 
joy  of  his  presence. 

419 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Won't  you  tell  me?" 

"In  a  moment.  In  one  moment.  Oh,  Walter, 
the  heavenly  rest  of  knowing  that  you  care!" 

Then  suddenly  shaking  off  her  seriousness,  she  drew 
away  from  him,  looking  up  into  his  face  with  eyes 
that  shone  strangely. 

"I'm  not  crying,  Walter,"  she  exclaimed.  "I'm 
only — frantically  happy."  She  gave  a  little  gasp, 
followed  by  a  little  laugh. 

And  Gore,  carried  away  by  her  charm,  by  the  un- 
conscious flatter}^  of  her  words,  caught  her  suddenly 
in  his  arms,  and,  bending  his  face  to  hers,  kissed  her 
passionately. 

At  last  they  drew  apart,  laughing,  and  Clodagh 
moved  across  the  room  to  the  open  window  and  sat 
down  upon  the  low  sill. 

A  second  or  two  later  he  followed  her. 

"Well!  And  so  the  fiance  is  perfection?"  he  said, 
smilingly.  "Little  Nance  looks  very  happy."  He 
seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the  table  strewn  with 
the  debris  of  the  heliotrope. 

Clodagh  glanced  up,  pleased  and  interested. 

"Yes,  Pierce  is  charming,"  she  said,  eagerly.  "And 
so  are  his  mother  and  sister.     I  told  you,  didn't  I  ?" 

"Yes." 

"We  dined  with  them  at  the  Carlton  last  night, 
and  they're  coming  here  to  tea  this  afternoon.  I 
know  you'll  love  them.  Mrs.  Estcoit  has  the  most 
fascinating — " 

But  Gore  made  a  rueful  face. 

"To-day!"  he  said.  "Oh,  you  might  have  given 
me  the  first  day!" 

Clodagh  laughed  happily. 

"How  greedy  of  you!  This  is  to  be  a  family 
party." 

420 


THE    GAMBLER 

Gore  smiled. 

"And  Nance  was  decorating  the  room  for  the  sac- 
rifice?" He  idly  gathered  the  stalks  and  leaves  of 
the  heliotrope  into  a  little  heap. 

,  The  action  was  purely  mechanical,  purely  inad- 
vertent. But  as  he  drew  the  broken  stems  together 
a  small  object,  hitherto  hidden  under  the  scattered 
leaves,  was  suddenly  brought  to  light. 

It  was  very  trivial,  very  uninteresting— merely  a 
man's  visiting-card.  Without  consideration  he  pick- 
ed it  up  and  looked  at  it.  Then  with  an  extremely 
quiet  gesture  he  laid  it  down  again. 

It  bore  the  name  of  the  earl  of  Deerehurst,  and 
across  it  Clodagh's  name  and  address  had  been  scrib- 
bled in  pencil. 

"So  you  owe  the  decorations  to  Deerehurst?"  he 
said,  in  a  low  voice. 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Then  suddenly  he  rose 
and  stepped  to  Clodagh's  side. 

"Dear,  forgive  me!"  he  said. 

At  the  unexpected  words  Clodagh's  heart  swelled. 
With  a  sudden  impulse  she  caught  the  hand  he  had 
laid  upon  her  shoulder  and  pressed  it  against  her  face. 

"No,  Walter,"  she  said.  "Say  all  that  was  in 
your  mind.     Be  angry,  if  you  like." 

For  answer  Gore  seated  himself  beside  her  on  the 
window-sill. 

"I  don't  think  I  should  ever  be  angry  with  you," 
he  said,  gently.  "Anger  seems  to  belong  to  lesser 
things  than — love.  I  should  either  believe  in  you 
or  disbelieve  in  you." 

He  said  the  somewhat  curious  words  gravely. 

Clodagh  turned  to  him  swiftly. 

"  Walter,  there  was  no  doubt  of  me  in  your  mind, 
then?" 

421 


THE    GAMBLER 

He  met  her  searching  eyes  quietly. 

"Not  one  doubt.  Do  you  think  I  have  forgotten 
that  night  at  Tuffnell.?" 

He  spoke  almost  gently,  but  at  his  words  the  re- 
membrance of  the  night  at  Tuffnell  rushed  back  upon 
Clodagh  with  an  almost  exaggerated  vividness.  On 
that  night  love  had  shone  upon  her — love,  with  its 
coveted  accompaniments  of  trust  and  protection. 
She  remembered  the  dimly  lit  music-room,  the  dark 
garden  with  its  old-fashioned  scents;  she  remembered 
Gore's  quiet,  distinct  question- — "Not  one  of  them 
is  anything  to  you — in  any  way?" 

She  remembered  this,  and  she  remembered  also  the 
infinitesimal  pause  that  had  divided  his  question  from 
her  answer,  when  the  images  of  Lady  Frances  Hope, 
of  Serracauld,  of  Deerehurst  had  flitted  across  her 
imagination.  Then,  last  of  all,  she  recalled  her  an- 
swer— "Not  one  of  them  is  anything  to  me — in  any 
way." 

The  moment  that  had  brought  forth  that  answer 
had  been  crucial — had  been,  psychologically,  intense- 
ly interesting.  It  had  been  the  triumph  of  love — the 
triumph  of  the  egotism  that  is,  and  ever  must  be,  a 
component  part  of  love. 

And  now,  as  she  reviewed  the  incident  in  the  colder 
light  of  day — as  she  turned  involuntarily  and  looked 
at  Gore — she  was  suddenly  mastered  by  the  certain 
knowledge  that,  were  the  circumstance  to  be  repeated, 
her  action  would  be  the  same. 

With  a  swift  movement  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Walter,"  she  said,  impulsively,  "you  are  the  only 
person  in  the  world.     No  one  else  exists." 

It  was  an  hour  later,  and  the  outward  aspect  of 
Clodagh 's   drawing  -  room    had   been    changed.     The 

422 


THE    GAMBLER 

sun-blinds  had  been  drawn  up,  and  a  full  flood  of 
light  allowed  to  pour  in  across  the  table  in  the  win- 
dow. The  debris  of  leaves  and  stalks — and  with  them 
Deerehurst's  card — had  been  removed  to  give  place 
to  a  tea-tray,  while  through  the  room  itself  rang  the 
gay  talk  and  laughter  of  people  who  have  enjoyed 
a  genuinely  pleasant  meal. 

The  tea  had  been  disposed  of  some  little  time  ago, 
but  Nance  still  lingered  beside  the  tea-table,  and  at 
her  side  stood  Gore  and  a  young  man  of  fivc-and- 
twenty  with  a  tall,  slight  figure,  a  pale  face,  and  in- 
tensely shrewd  and  penetrating  eyes. 

Clodagh,  still  wearing  her  riding-habit,  sat  in  the 
centre  of  the  room  in  radiantly  high  spirits,  talking 
animatedly  to  a  distinguished -looking  woman  with 
beautiful  white  hair,  and  a  slim,  graceful  girl  of  about 
Nance's  age,  who  sat  one  on  either  side  of  her. 

"Isn't  it  unkind  of  Mrs.  Estcoit,  Pierce?"  she  said, 
suddenly  turning  towards  the  tea-table.  "She  says 
you  must  go!" 

Estcoit  laughed  —  and  when  he  laughed  a  very 
agreeable  gleam  of  humor  showed  in  his  shrewd  eyes. 

"But  it  takes  my  mother  ten  minutes  to  go  from 
anywhere,"  he  said.     "Ask  Nance  if  it  doesn't." 

Clodagh  laughed  gayly. 

"Good!  Then  I  can  ask  ten  more  questions  about 
Hoston.      Mrs.  Estcoit,  please  tell  me — " 

But  she  paused  before  her  sentence  was  finished; 
for  the  handle  of  the  door  had  turned,  and,  looking 
up  quickly,  she  saw  the  tall  figure  of  Deerehurst. 

Had  any  member  of  the  party  looked  at  her  in  that 
moment,  he  or  she  would  have  seen  a  wave  of  color 
sweep  across  her  face,  then  die  out,  leaving  her  al- 
most white.  But  beyond  this  she  betrayed  no 
emotion;  and  a  moment  later,  when  Deerehurst  came 

423 


THE    GAMBLER 

towards  her  across  the  room  with  his  habitual  slow, 
silent  step,  she  raised  her  head,  smiHng  a  conventional 
welcome,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

He  took  it  silently  and  with  a  slightly  ostentatious 
impressiveness. 

"A  thousand  apologies  if  I  intrude  on  a  social 
gathering,"  he  murmured.  "But  on  returning  home 
I  chanced  upon  the  book  we  were  discussing  to-day, 
and  remembering  how  interested  you  were — "  With  a 
very  quiet  movement  he  laid  a  small  and  costly  Httle 
book  of  verses  on  the  arm  of  Clodagh's  chair,  and 
turned  with  his  usual  dignity  to  where  Nance  was 
standing. 

"How  d'  you  do,  Miss  Asshlin  ?  Is  it  too  late  to 
beg  for  a  cup  of  tea?" 

Nance  held  out  her  hand. 

"I'm  afraid  'twill  be  rather  cold,"  she  said,  a  Httle 
ungraciously.  "But  if  you  don't  mind  that,  will 
you  please  ring  the  bell.  We  shall  want  another 
cup." 

Estcoit  glanced  at  her,  a  humorous  look  hovering 
about  his  thin  hps,  and  at  the  same  instant  Gore  was 
conscious  of  a  sudden  wave  of  brotherly  affection. 

But  Deerehurst  showed  no  embarrassment.  He 
turned  to  the  fireplace,  pressed  the  bell,  then  looked 
round  again  upon  the  little  group, 

"Halloo,  Gore!"  he  said,  carelessly.  "I  thought 
you  were  kilHng  salmon  at  the  home  of  the  ancestors. 
How  d'  you  do,  Mr.  Estcoit?" 

He  nodded  to  the  young  American,  then  moved 
away  again  to  where  Clodagh  sat. 

"What  a  dreadful  afternoon!"  he  said.  "Why 
haven't  you  changed  into  something  lighter?"  He 
glanced  at  her  riding-habit. 

She  blushed  and  looked  up  hastily. 

424 


THE    GAMBLER 

"We  have  just  been  saying  what  a  glorious  after- 
noon. But  I  don't  think  you  liave  met  Mrs.  and 
Miss  Estcoit!  Let  me  introduce  you.  Lord  Deere- 
hurst,  Mrs.  Estcoit." 

Both  ladies  bowed,  and  Mrs.  Estcoit  broke  at  once 
into  an  unaffected  flow  of  talk,  to  which  Deerehurst 
Ustened  with  polite  interest,  smiling  now  and  then, 
and  occasionally  raising  his  eye-glass. 

At  last,  as  she  paused,  he  looked  at  her  in  faint 
curiosity. 

"And  you  really  find  an  interest  in  England?"  he 

asked. 

She  gave  a  bright,  cordial  laugh,  a  laugh  that 
seemed  to  testify  to  the  perennial  youth  of  her  coun- 
trywomen. 

"This  is  the  twenty-first  visit  I've  paid  to  Eng- 
land," she  said.  "And  I  love  it  more  every  time. 
Wlien  my  son  turns  me  out  of  my  home  in  Boston, 
I  shall  buy  one  of  your  country  places — as  a  dower 
house."  Again  she  laughed,  casting  an  affectionate 
glance  towards  Nance  and  Estcoit.  "But,  Clodagh. 
we  really  must  fly.  Good  -  bye.  Lord  Deerehurst. 
Delighted  to  have  met  you."  She  rose  gracefully, 
shook  hands  with  the  old  peer,  and.  turning  to  Clo- 
dagh, took  both  her  hands  and  kissed  her  warmly. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said.  "Good-bye.  It  has  been 
perfectly  charming." 

Clodagh  smiled  a  quick  response. 

"Indeed  it  has— for  me.     Don't  forget  to-morrow 

night." 

"Forget!  Why,  I'm  existing  to  see  that  play. 
Come,  Daisy!"  She  turned  to  her  daughter,  who 
had  joined  the  group  at  the  tea-table.  "Pierce,  are 
you  ready?  Good-bye,  Nance.  Come  with  us  to 
the  elevator?" 

425 


THE    GAMBLER 

Nance  crossed  the  room  readily,  while  Estcoit 
shook  hands  with  Clodagh. 

"Good-bye,"  he  said.  "I  shall  see  you  to-morrow 
night — if  not  sooner." 

She  pressed  his  hand  warmly.  "Make  it  sooner," 
she  said.  And  they  both  laughed,  after  the  manner 
of  people  who  understand  and  like  each  other. 

The  momentary  departure  of  Nance  left  Clodagh, 
Gore,  and  Deerehurst  the  sole  occupants  of  the  room. 
After  Estcoit  had  closed  the  door  there  was  a  faint 
pause,  and  in  that  pause  Clodagh  was  a  prey  to  con- 
flicting feelings  —  passionate  hope  that  Deerehurst 
might  see  fit  to  go,  passionate  fear  that  Gore  might 
leave  before  they  could  have  a  word  in  private. 

And  while  her  mind  swayed  between  hope  and  fear, 
Deerehurst  drew  forward  a  chair  and  seated  himself 
beside  her. 

"I  shall  be  interested  to  know  what  you  think  of 
this,"  he  said,  leaning  forward  and  lifting  the  book 
from  the  arm  of  her  chair,  where  she  had  allowed  it 
to  lie  untouched. 

She  smiled  mechanically,  though  her  senses  were 
strained  to  observe  Gore's  attitude. 

"It  is  very  good  of  you.  I  am  sure — I  am  sure  I 
shall  like  it." 

For  an  instant  his  cold  glance  rested  curiously  on 
her  face,  the  next  it  fell  again  to  the  book. 

"I  shall  expect  you  to  like  it,"  he  said,  enigmati- 
cally. 

"What  is  the  book?"  Gore  came  quietly  forward 
and  stood  looking  down  at  them. 

Deerehurst  raised  his  eyes  with  an  expression  in 
which  amusement  and  a  faint  contempt  were  to  be 
read  by  a  close  observer. 

"The  book!"  he  said.    "Oh,  something,  I  am  afraid, 

426 


OH,     SO.Mi;  rillNT.,     1     AM      Al-KAII),     lllAI      Woll.liN    1       INTliREST 

YOU  '  " 


THE    GAMBLER 

that  wouldn't  interest  you.  I  don't  believe  the 
writer  knew  anything  of  far  countries — or  even  of 
fishing."  He  paused,  and  deliberately  turned  half 
a  dozen  pages.  "He  only  understood  one  thing,  but 
that  he  understood  perfectly." 

Gore  laughed. 

"And  may  a  Philistine  ask  what  it  was?" 

"Oh,  certainly.     It  was  love." 

The  door  opened  as  he  said  the  word  in  his  high, 
expressive  voice,  and  to  Clodagh's  indescribable  re- 
lief Nance  entered. 

In  the  second  that  she  stepped  across  the  threshold 
her  bright  eyes  passed  from  one  face  to  the  other, 
and  a  rapid  process  of  deduction  took  place  in  her 
mind. 

"Walter,"  she  said,  pleasantly,  "Pierce  says  there's 
one  question  he  forgot  to  ask  you  about  Japan.  Do 
you  mind  if  I  ask  it  now?"  She  walked  to  the  open 
window. 

Gore  followed  her,  and  Clodagh  drew  a  breath  of 
deep  relief. 

Ten  minutes  passed — ten  interminable  minutes,  in 
which  she  strove  to  attend  to  Decrehurst's  words, 
while  her  ears  were  strained  to  follow  the  conversa- 
tion in  the  window.  Then  at  last  relief  came.  He 
rose  to  go. 

"I  must  say  good-bye,"  he  said,  taking  her  hand. 
"I  shall  await  your  verdict  on  the  verses.  There  is 
one  I  want  you  specially  to  read — the  last  one.  Good- 
bye." 

She  smiled,  scarcely  hearing  what  he  said,  and  a 
moment  later  he  had  bowed  to  the  two  in  the  window 
and  passed  out  of  the  room. 

As  the  outer  door  closed,  Nance  came  across  to 
her  sister. 

427 


THE    GAMBLER 

"  Do  you  mind  if  I  run  down  to  Sloane  Street,  Clo  ?" 
she  asked.  "I  never  remembered  those  lozenges  for 
Aunt  Fan,  and  I  can  just  catch  the  Irish  mail." 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  she  stooped  and 
kissed  Clodagh's  forehead,  and,  turning,  passed  out 
of  the  room. 

After  she  had  left  them,  there  was  a  silence,  in  which 
neither  Clodagh  nor  Gore  made  any  attempt  to  speak. 

Filled  with  a  nervous  sense  of  something  inevitably 
impending,  Clodagh  sat  very  still.  She  dreaded  to 
look  at  Gore  lest  she  might  precipitate  what  he  was 
going  to  say,  yet  to  her  strained  mind  suspense  ap- 
peared intolerable.  She  clasped  her  hands  suddenly, 
with  a  little  catching  of  the  breath. 

At  the  faint  yet  significant  sound  he  turned  from 
the  window,  and,  coming  quietly  across  the  room, 
paused  behind  her  chair. 

"Clodagh."  He  bent  over  her,  laying  his  hands 
gently  on  her  shoulders.  "Clodagh,  we  talked  to- 
day of  the  night  at  Tuffnell — of  what  you  said  that 
night." 

"Yes." 

Clodagh's  throat  felt  dry. 

"And  it  was  all  true — perfectly  true?" 

"Yes.     Oh,  Walter,  yes." 

Gore  stood  upright,  still  keeping  his  hands  upon 
her  shoulders. 

"Then  I  am  going  to  ask  a  great  favor  of  you.  I 
am  going  to  ask  you  to  break  your  friendship — to 
break  your  acquaintance — with  Deerehurst.  I  want 
you  never  to  have  him  in  your  house  after  to-day. 
Dearest,  believe  me,  I  know  what  I  am  saying." 

As  Clodagh  remained  silent  he  bent  over  her  again. 

"It  isn't  jealousy,  Clodagh.  It  isn't  pique.  It  is 
just  that  I  cannot  bear  to  see  the  man  in  your  pres- 

428 


THE    GAMBLER 

ence  —  in  your  house,  knowinj^^  what  I  know  of 
him." 

"What  do  you  know  of  him?"  Clodagh  asked, 
faintly. 

"Nothing  that  I  care  to  tell  you!  Be  satisfied 
that  I  know  what  I  ask — and  that  1  do  ask.  Give 
him  up!  Cease  to  know  him!  Cease  to  have  him 
here!"  In  the  intensity  of  his  feeUngs,  his  fingers 
pressed  her  shoulders. 

"Clodagh,  am  I  asking  too  much?" 

Quite  suddenly,  almost  hysterically,  Clodagh  rose, 
and,  turning  to  him,  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"No,  Walter!"  she  cried.  "No!  No!  Nothing 
you  could  ask  would  be  too  great  to  grant.  I  will 
do  what  you  wish.  I  will  give  him  up — utterly — 
entirely — from  to  day!" 


XLIII 

THE  next  morning  Clodagh  rose  imbued  with 
new  decision.  During  Gore's  absence,  things 
had  worn  a  vague,  even  an  impersonal  aspect;  for, 
Hke  all  her  countrywomen,  she  possessed  a  fatally 
pleasant  capacity  for  shelving  the  disagreeable. 
While  Gore  was  absent,  it  had  seemed  so  easy  to 
meet  Deerehurst  on  the  footing  he  elected  to  main- 
tain—  the  footing  of  calm,  reassuring  friendship. 
But  now,  with  Gore's  return,  the  aspect  of  affairs 
had  altered.  She  was  forced  to  look  circumstances  in 
the  face — forced  to  consider  her  position.  She  might 
be  a  shelver  of  difficulties;  but,  before  all  things, 
she  was  a  woman  in  love ;  and  with  the  instinct  that 
such  a  condition  of  mind  engenders  she  had  inter- 
preted the  look  in  Gore's  eyes  when  the  name  of 
Deerehurst  had  been  mentioned  between  them — and 
had  recognized  that  it  was  not  to  be  ignored. 

As  she  dressed  that  morning,  she  mentally  surveyed 
the  courses  of  action  that  lay  open  to  her;  and  with 
each  moment  of  reflection,  it  became  plainer  to  her 
understanding  that  only  one  was  worthy  of  considera- 
tion. However  difficult  the  task,  she  must  make 
known  her  position  to  Deerehurst,  and  trust  to  his 
generosity  to  find  means  of  helping  her. 

Her  mind  was  full  of  this  new  and  somewhat  op- 
timistic scheme  when  she  came  into  the  dining-room, 
where  Nance  was  already  reading  her  morning  letters. 

430 


THE    GAMBLER 

With  a  slightly  absorbed  manner  she  kissed  her  sister, 
and,  passing  round  the  breakfast-table,  picked  up 
her  own  correspondence. 

In  a  perfunctory  way  she  turned  the  envelopes 
over  until  one  arrested  her  attention,  as  being  inti- 
mately connected  with  her  thoughts. 

It  was  a  letter  from  Deerehurst,  and  she  tore  it 
open  hastily,  skimming  the  contents  with  an  eager 
glance.     It  began: 

"Dear  little  Lady, — Yesterday  the  fates  who  watch 
over  my  affairs  were  unkind.  The  afternoon  was  frankly  a 
failure.  But  I  shall  claim  recompense;  I  shall  look  in  upon 
you  in  your  box  at  the  Apollo  at  nine  to-night.  A  vexatious 
business  matter  calls  mc  out  of  town  to-day,  or  I  should 
strive  to  see  you  earlier.     But  at  nine — make  me  welcome. 

"Always  devotedly. 

"Deerehurst." 

She  finished  reading  the  note,  then  laid  it  down 
and  hurriedly  picked  up  another  letter.  How  an- 
noying it  was!     How  malicious  of  chance! 

The  second  letter  proved  to  be  from  Lady  Frances 
Hope;  it  was  from  Brittany,  and  reproached  her  ex- 
travagantly for  not  having  written  since  they  parted 
at  TulTnell ;  imploring  for  news  of  her  movements,  it 
informed  her  that  the  writer,  with  Mrs.  Bathurst  and 
Valentine  Serracauld,  was  on  her  way  back  to  Lon- 
don. She  followed  the  lines  mechanically,  but  her 
mind  was  elsewhere.  At  last  she  threw  the  letter 
down. 

"Nance!"  she  said,  suddenly. 

"Darling!" 

"Nance,  I'm  in  a  horrid  diilicuity." 

Nance's  high-arched  eyebrows  drew  together  in  a 
frown  of  concern. 

"  Nothing  bad  ?"  she  said.  "  Nothing  about  Walter  ?" 

431 


THE    GAMBLER 

"No.  Yes;  yes  it  is.  You  know  Walter  dislikes 
Lord  Deerehurst.  Well,  he  was  vexed  at  finding 
him  here  yesterday ;  atid  after  he  had  gone  I  —  I 
promised  not  to  see  him  any  more — I  promised  to 
break  off  my  friendship  with  him." 

Nance  nodded,  tactfully  refraining  from  any  joy 
in  the  proving  of  her  theories. 

"Yes?"  she  prompted,  softly. 

"And  now  Lord  Deerehurst  writes  that  he  will  be 
at  the  Apollo  to-night,  and  is  coming  round  to  our 
box  at  nine." 

Nance  pursed  up  her  lips. 

"Oh!"  she  said.  "And  you'll  have  to  put  him 
off?" 

"That's  the  annoying  thing.     I  can't.     At  least, 
not  easily." 

"Why?" 

"Because  he's  going  into  the  country  to-day  and 
won't  be  back  till  evening." 

"Send  him  a  note.  He  must  go  home  to  dress 
before  going  to  the  theatre." 

"He  might  dress  and  dine  at  his  club." 

"Write  to  his  club  as  well." 

Clodagh's  perplexity  showed  itself  in  annoyance. 

"How  absurd  you  are,  Nance!  Fancy  writing  a 
man  two  letters  asking  him  not  to  see  you,  and  giving 
no  explanation.  It  would  simply  bring  him  round 
here  at  ten  to-morrow  morning." 

She  poured  herself  out  a  cup  of  tea  and  drank  it 
hastily. 

"Life  is  a  hateful  tangle,"  she  said. 

"No,  it  isn't,  darling,  if  you  only  had  a  little  pa- 
tience." 

Clodagh  made  a  very  impatient  gesture. 

"You  don't  understand." 

432 


THE    GAMBLER 

"  I  understand  one  thing — that  you  care  for  Wal- 
ter." 

Clodagh  looked  up,  her  mutable  face  lit  by  a  sud- 
den change  of  expression — a  sudden  look  of  almost 
passionate  seriousness. 

"Yes,  1  do  care  for  Walter,"  she  said,  suddenly. 
"  I  care  so  much  that  1  honestly  and  truly  believe  it 
would  kill  me  if  anything  came  between  us.  I  have 
had  lots  of  things  in  my  life — pleasure,  excitement, 
admiration — but  I  have  never  had  happiness  until 
now.     And  I  won't  lose  it — I  can't  lose  it." 

The  words  poured  forth  in  vehement  sincerity; 
then,  as  she  saw  the  expression  on  Nance's  face,  she 
gave  a  little  laugh  and  put  out  her  hand  across  the 
table. 

"Dearest,  1  frightened  you.  Of  course  everything 
comes  right  if  one  has  a  little  patience.  Let's  begin 
breakfast  properly.     My  head  aches." 

With  another  laugh,  she  pressed  Nance's  fingers, 
gathered  up  her  scattered  correspondence,  and  poured 
herself  out  another  cup  of  tea. 

Nance  spent  a  long  morning  with  her  future  mother- 
in-law,  lunching  with  her  afterwards  at  her  hotel. 
Clodagh,  left  to  herself,  ordered  her  horse  for  eleven 
o'clock;  and  after  two  hours  of  recklessly  swift  riding 
in  the  Row,  lunched  alone  at  her  club.  After  lunch 
she  wrote  two  telegrams — one  addressed  to  Deere- 
hurst's  London  house,  the  other  to  the  club  he  most 
frequented;  these  she  handed  in  herself  at  a  telegraph- 
office,  and,  having  despatched  them,  drove  straight 
home. 

At  four  o'clock  Nance  returned  to  the  flat,  to  be 
met  by  the  announcement  that  her  sister  had  a  bad 
headache  and  had  gone  to  her  own  room.  Full  of 
«8  433 


THE    GAMBLER 

concern,  she  flew  along  the  corridor  and  knocked  on 
Clodagh's  door.  In  a  very  low  voice  Clodagh  gave 
her  leave  to  enter.  She  opened  the  door  swiftly; 
then  paused,  alarmed.  The  blinds  were  drawn,  and 
by  the  subdued  light  she  saw  Clodagh  lying  on  a 
couch  near  one  of  the  windows. 

"Why,  Clo,  what's  the  matter?" 

She  ran  forward  and  dropped  on  her  knees  by  the 
couch. 

Clodagh  extended  two  rather  cold  hands,  and  took 
possession  of  Nance's  warm  ones. 

"Nothing  but  a  wretched  headache.  It  will  go 
if  I  lie  down  all  the  afternoon  and  keep  quiet  to- 
night." 

Nance  looked  up. 

"But  how  can  you — at  the  play?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  the  play." 

"Not  going?" 

Clodagh  drew  her  sister  closer. 

"Now,  darling,  don't  make  a  fuss.  If  you  say 
one  word  of  objection,  my  head  will  get  ten  times 
worse  than  it  is.  You  are  just  to  listen,  and  do  as  I 
tell  you.  You  are  to  telephone  to  Mrs.  Estcoit  and 
explain  what  has  happened.  She  will  do  the  chaper- 
oning instead  of  me." 

"But  Walter—" 

"  Walter  is  to  go  with  you.  You  are  to  be  as  nice 
to  him  as  you  possibly  can  be.  Everything  is  to  be 
exactly  as  we  arranged — exactly  as  we  arranged." 

She  raised  herself  on  her  elbow  to  enforce  the 
words. 

"And  what  about  Lord  Deerehurst?" 

Clodagh  did  not  answer  immediately,  then,  sinking 
back  among  her  pillows,  she  spoke  in  a  somewhat 
hurried  voice. 

434 


THE    GAMBLER 

"That  will  be  all  right;  I  —  I  took  your  advice 
and  sent  him  two  messages,  one  to  Carlton  House 
Terrace  and  one  to  his  club.  He  won't  be  at  the 
theatre." 

"But  if  he  doesn't  get  the  message?  If  he  comes 
all  the  same?" 

"Then  be  polite  to  him.  And  now  go,  like  a  good 
child.  Don't  ask  any  more  questions.  Don't  say 
anything.  Let  me  see  you  when  you're  dressed,  and 
I'll  give  you  a  letter  for  Walter.  I'm  afraid  I  can't 
dine  with  you ;  I'll  just  have  something  sent  in  here." 
Then,  as  if  in  sudden  remorse,  she  put  her  arms  about 
Nance's  neck  and  drew  her  close  to  her. 

"Darling,  forgive  me,  if  I  seem  impossible." 

At  half-past  eight  Nance  left  the  house,  having 
shown  herself  to  her  sister,  made  a  last  loving  inquiry 
as  to  her  health,  and  taken  possession  of  the  note  for 
Gore. 

As  she  passed  out  of  the  bedroom,  Clodagh  threw 
off  the  fur  rug  that  lay  across  her  feet  and  sat 
up  with  an  expression  of  sharp  attention.  As  the 
sound  of  the  closing  hall -door  reached  her  ears, 
she  drew  a  little  breath  of  excitement  and  rose  from 
the  couch  with  no  appearance  of  her  recent  indis- 
position. 

Without  calling  in  Simonetta  she  changed  from 
the  white  silk  wrapper  she  was  wearing  into  a  black 
walking-dress,  and  crossing  to  one  of  the  wardrobes 
took  out  a  black  hat  and  veil. 

She  scarcely  looked  at  herself  as  she  smoothed 
her  hair  and  fastened  on  her  hat.  Beneath  the  en- 
forced repression  of  the  afternoon,  there  burned  in 
her  mind  a  certain  sense  of  adventure — of  enterprise 
— that  turned  her  hot  and  cold.     For  though  the 

435 


THE    GAMBLER 

Irish  nature  may  procrastinate,  it  takes  action  with 
a  very  keen  zest  when  once  circumstance  has  com- 
pelled a  decisive  step. 

Having  finished  her  dressing,  she  picked  up  a  pair 
of  gloves,  switched  off  the  electric  light,  and  left  her 
room.  In  the  corridor  outside  she  met  one  of  the 
maids;  but  without  giving  the  woman  time  to  show 
any  surprise,  she  made  haste  to  offer  an  explanation. 

"  I  have  forgotten  to  tell  Miss  Asshlin  something 
of  importance,"  she  said.  "I  shall  have  to  drive  to 
the  theatre  and  see  her.  Please  ring  for  the  lift. 
The  porter  will  find  me  a  cab."  And  without  wait- 
ing to  observe  the  effect  of  the  somewhat  disjointed 
statement,  she  passed  to  the  hall-door. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  hall-porter  had  put  her 
into  a  hansom,  telling  the  cabman  to  drive  to  the 
Apollo  Theatre. 

While  the  cab  -  doors  were  being  closed  and  the 
order  given,  Clodagh  sat  very  still;  and  for  a  few 
minutes  after  they  had  started  she  lay  back  in  her 
seat,  watching  the  familiar  succession  of  lights  and 
trees  and  indistinct  massed  faces  that  form  the 
nightly  picture  between  Knightsbridge  and  Picca 
dilly;  but  at  last,  as  Hyde  Park  Corner  loomed  into 
view,  she  sat  upright,  and,  raising  her  hand,  shook 
the  roof  trap. 

The  cabman  checked  the  pace  of  his  horse,  and, 
opening  the  little  door,  looked  down. 

"Don't  mind  the  Apollo,"  she  said.  "Drive  to 
Carlton  House  Terrace  instead." 

The  man  muttered  an  assent,  and,  wheeling  his 
horse  to  the  right,  cut  across  the  trafific. 

Five  or  six  minutes  passed  while  the  cab  threaded 
its  way  across  the  Green  Park,  past  Buckingham 
Palace  into  St.  James's  Park;  then  Clodagh  gained 

436 


THE    GAMBLER 

her  first  close  view  of  Deerehurst's  town-house.  For 
one  moment  she  felt  daunted  by  the  unfamiliarity  of 
its  aspect;  but  the  next  she  rallied  her  determination, 
and,  stepping  from  the  cab,  paid  her  fare  and  walked 
resolutely  across  the  pavement  to  the  imposing 
door. 

It  was  opened  at  once  by  a  servant  in  very  sombre 
and  decorous  livery,  who,  having  thrown  the  door 
wide,  looked  at  her,  then  looked  at  the  cab  just 
wheeling  away  from  the  curb.  There  was  nothing 
uncivil  in  the  man's  glance — nothing  that  one  could 
reasonably  complain  of — yet,  to  her  intense  annoy- 
ance, Clodagh  colored. 

"Is  Lord  Deerehurst  at  home?"  she  asked. 

The  servant's  eyes  left  the  retreating  cab. 

"Have  you  an  appointment  with  his  lordship?" 

"If  he  is  in,  Lord  Deerehurst  will  see  me.  I  am 
Mrs.  Milbanke." 

At  the  coldness  of  her  tone,  and  her  ready  mention 
of  her  name,  his  manner  changed,  though  a  flicker  of 
curiosity  passed  across  his  face. 

"Are  you  the  lady  his  lordship  is  expecting?"  he 
said,  in  a  different  voice. 

"Yes,  Lord  Deerehurst  is  expecting  me." 

There  was  a  slight  pause;  then,  with  the  air  of 
one  who  admits  a  novice  into  inner  mysteries,  he 
stepped  back,  ushering  her  up  into  the  spacious  hall. 

"Will  you  kindly  step  this  way?"  he  said.  "His 
lordship  is  in  his  study." 

Glad  that  the  ordeal  of  entering  the  house  was 
over,  Clodagh  readily  followed  the  man  across  the 
hall,  up  a  wide  stairs,  and  along  a  softly  carpeted  cor- 
ridor. At  the  end  of  the  passage  he  paused  in  front 
of  a  curtained  door,  and.  pushing  the  curtain  back, 
entered  an  unseen  room. 

4o7 


THE    GAMBLER 

"The  lady  your  lordship  is  expecting,"  she  heard 
him  say. 

Then  he  turned  quickly  and  threw  the  door  open 
for  her.  An  instant  later  she  had  entered  Deere- 
hurst's  room. 

At  the  moment  her  thoughts  were  too  confused 
to  permit  of  detailed  observation  of  the  room,  al- 
though afterwards,  when  the  interview  had  taken 
place  and  she  had  time  to  sift  reality  from  imagina- 
tion, the  scene  and  its  central  figure  were  destined 
to  stand  out  with  the  accuracy  of  a  picture  that  has 
made  an  indelible,  if  an  unconscious,  impression  upon 
the  observer's  mind. 

The  room  was  an  anomaly,  viewed  from  a  studious 
point  of  view ;  but  the  merely  artistic  eye  would  have 
found  nothing  to  cavil  at.  It  was  not  large,  as  one 
counts  rooms  in  a  great  London  house,  though  else- 
where it  would  have  seemed  spacious.  Numberless 
books  in  costly  bindings  were  strewn  about  on  tables 
and  in  cases,  but  they  were  not  the  books  of  the 
thinker.  They  were  the  romances,  the  memoirs,  the 
poems  of  the  last  half-century,  but  not  one  volume 
dealt  with  science,  or  even  with  philosophy.  The 
walls  were  panelled  in  dark  red;  some  beautiful 
lamps  hung  from  the  ceiling;  and  in  a  distant  cornep 
a  large  silver  bowl  full  of  crimson  roses  was  set  up,  as  if 
in  homage  to  beauty,  before  an  exquisitely  modelled 
statue  of  Venus. 

In  a  quick,  half-comprehended  flash  of  instinct,  it 
came  to  Clodagh  that  she  had  never  really  seen 
Deerehurst  until  now,  as  he  stood  backgrounded  by 
the  atmosphere  he  himself  had  created.  He  was 
dressed  as  he  had  been  on  the  night  in  Venice  when 
she  had  first  seen  him.  He  wore  the  curiously  cut 
evening  clothes  that  he  always  affected,  and  which 

438 


THE    GAMBLER 

gave  to  his  appearance  the  peculiar  distinction  that 
set  him  apart  from  other  men ;  the  diamond-ring  that 
she  had  noticed  on  that  first  night  glittered  on  his 
hand;  and,  as  then,  the  black  ribbon  of  his  eye-glass 
showed  across  his  shirt  -  front.  But  more  clearly 
than  in  the  dusk  of  the  Venetian  night  she  saw  the 
long  outline  of  his  face,  the  peculiar  artificial  pallor 
of  his  skin,  the  cold  vigilance  of  his  eyes.  And  in 
that  moment  of  entry  a  faint,  indescribable  hesitancy 
chilled  her  resolution.  Involuntarily  she  halted  on 
the  threshold  of  the  room. 

But  Deerehurst  gave  no  time  for  her  indecision  to 
mature.  As  the  door  closed  upon  the  servant  he 
came  quickly  forward  and  took  the  hand  she  mechan- 
ically offered  him. 

For  one  moment  he  held  her  fingers  closely;  then 
he  lifted  them,  and,  before  she  could  anticipate  the 
action,  pressed  them  to  his  lips. 

That  a  man  should  kiss  a  woman's  hand  by  way 
of  greeting  is  not  necessarily  a  significant  thing. 
It  may  be  a  slightly  ostentatious  act — but  it  may 
be  nothing  more.  Uncertain  how  to  construe  the 
movement,  Clodagh  gave  a  faint  laugh  and  withdrew 
her  fingers. 

"  Were  you  very  much  surprised  to  get  my 
wire  r 

She  moved  awav  from  him  into  the  middle  of  the 
room.  Now  that  she  put  it  to  the  test,  the  interview 
seemed  infinitely  more  difficult  than  when  contem- 
plated from  a  distance.  She  felt  nervous  and  ill  at 
ease. 

Watching  her  with  his  close,  attentive  look,  Deere- 
hurst drew  forward  a  chair. 

"Sit  down,  little  lady,"  he  said,  in  his  thin,  im- 
passive voice. 

439 


THE    GAMBLER 

Reassured  by  the  formality  of  the  action,  she  took 
the  proffered  seat. 

"  Now  take  ofE  your  gloves.  We  shall  feel  more  at 
home." 

Again  she  gave  a  little  laugh. 

"My  gloves!     But  I  must  go  in  five  minutes." 

"  In  five  minutes  ?     When  the  night  is  so  young  ?" 
He  drew  forward  another  chair  and  sat  down  beside 
her. 

"Do  you  know  how  glad  and  proud  I  feel?" 

She  looked  up  quickly.  His  tone  had  subtly 
changed. 

"Lord  Deerehurst,"  she  said,  "I  must  explain  that 
the  reason  I  came — the  reason  I  came,  instead  of 
sending  for  you  or  writing — " 

Deerehurst  leaned  forward  and  laid  his  cold  hands 
over  hers. 

"Let  me  take  these  off.  It  feels  so  very  formal 
and  unlike  ourselves." 

He  began  softly  to  open  the  buttons  of  her  glove 
and  draw  it  deftly  from  her  hand. 

"But  you  haven't  listened  to  what  I  said,"  she 
objected.  "I  want  to  explain  at  once,  so  that  you 
can  understand  at  once — " 

Before  answering,  he  drew  off  the  second  glove  and 
laid  the  two  upon  the  table. 

"Why  should  you  explain?  Have  I  ever  been 
lacking  in  imagination?" 

"No.     Oh  no,  I  did  not  mean  that!" 

"Then  why  explain  anything?  Don't  you  think 
we  have  fenced  with  each  other  long  enough  ?"  He 
picked  up  the  gloves  quickly,  and  again  laid  them 
down.  "Don't  you  think  I  can  understand  without 
explanation?" 

"Understand?" 

440 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Why  you  came  to  me  to-night." 

"  Understand — why  I  came  to-night?" 

"I  think  so." 

He  turned  and  looked  straight  into  her  eyes. 

At  the  look  and  the  movement  the  blood  leaped  to 
her  face;  she  drew  back  into  her  chair.     . 

"And  why  do  you  think  I  came  to-night?" 

Very  swiftly  Deerehurst  bent  forward. 

"I  think,  little  lady,  that  you  came  because  you 
know  that  a  man  cannot  be  played  with  forever; 
and  because,  being  a  very  proud  woman,  you  will  not 
say  in  so  many  words,  '  I  give  you  leave  to  love  me.' 

"Dear  little  Clodagh!"  He  suddenly  put  out  his 
hand  towards  hers.  "It  has  all  been  very  delightful 
— your  reticence  and  your  innocence;  but  we  both 
know  that  such  pretty  things  are  perishable." 

Clodagh  sat  perfectly  still.  She  did  not  attempt 
to  withdraw  her  hand;  she  did  not  attempt  to  rise. 
She  sat  watching  him  as  if  fascinated,  while  a  hundred 
recollections  of  looks,  of  words,  of  insinuations  direct- 
ed against  her  and  him  by  Lady  Frances  Hope — by 
Rose  Bathurst — by  other  women  of  their  set — strayed 
in  nightmare  fashion  across  her  mind. 

Deerehurst  sat  watching  her,  his  hand  holding  hers, 
his  eyes  steadily  reading  her  face.  Then  suddenly 
he  gave  a  short  laugh  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"Little  actress,"  he  said. 

The  words,  but  more  than  the  words,  the  tone  in 
which  they  were  spoken,  roused  her.  She  rose  incon- 
tinently to  her  feet,  a  sudden  memory  of  Serracauld 
and  the  card-room  at  Tuffnell  sweeping  across  her 
mind. 

"Lord  Deerehurst,"  she  said,  breathlessly,  "there 
is  some  terrible  mistake.  You  utterly,  utterly  mis- 
understand." 

441 


THE    GAMBLER 

It  was  Deerehurst's  turn  to  show  emotion.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  knowledge  of  him  the  mask  of 
impassivity  dropped  from  his  face;  his  cold  eyes 
gleamed  unpleasantly. 

"And  how,  little  lady?  I  am  not  often  accused  of 
misreading  men — and  women." 

"You  think — "  She  paused,  unable  to  find  the 
words  she  needed.  She  felt  like  one  who  has  in- 
advertently stepped  upon  shifting  sands,  where  the 
ground  had  seemed  most  secure. 

"You  think — "  she  began  again. 

But  she  got  no  further.  With  a  silent  movement 
Deerehurst  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm. 

"Don't  you  think  we  have  fenced  long  enough? 
Don't  you  think  I  have  been  extraordinarily  pa- 
tient?" 

Clodagh  turned  very  cold. 

"Patient?"  she  said,  indistinctly. 

He  drew  her  suddenly  closer  to  him;  and  before 
she  could  resist,  he  had  kissed  her  hair,  her  lips,  her 
neck. 

"Yes,  patient,  because  I  have  never  before  asked 
for  this.  Because  I  have  been  content  to  kiss  your 
hand,  when  I  might  long  ago — "  He  bent  over  her 
again.  But  something  in  the  white  face  and  wild 
eyes  that  confronted  him  arrested  him.  He  drew 
back  and  looked  at  her. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "the  play  is  over!  Give  me  a 
kiss  of  your  own  accord." 

Clodagh  said  nothing.     Terror  mastered  her. 

"Come!     Give  me  a  kiss!" 

She  lay  almost  passive  in  his  embrace,  her  lips 
parted,  her  eyes  fixed  on  his. 

He  gave  another  short  laugh,  half-indulgent,  half- 
triumphant. 

442 


THE    GAMBLER 

"What  a  little  saint!  Come!  Show  me  why  you 
came  to  me  to-night.  Be  human.  Be  what  you 
know  you  are." 

Clodagh  made  no  answer;  but  he  felt  her  sway  a 
little  in  his  arms. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  sharply.  Selfish  annoy- 
ance was  written  on  his  face,  though  he  asked  the 
question  solicitously. 

"I  feel  faint,"  she  said;  "a  little  faint." 

"Faint?  Nonsense!  It  will  pass.  Rest  for  a 
moment."  Without  ceremony  he  half  lifted  her 
across  the  room  to  a  couch  that  stood  between  the 
fireplace  and  the  door. 

"Poor  little  girl.  Don't  be  frightened.  It  will 
pass  in  a  minute.  Is  there  anything  you  would 
like?" 

Clodagh  opened  her  eyes. 

"A  little  water,  I  think,"  she  said,  in  a  tremulous 
voice. 

His  face  cleared. 

"Or  some  champagne?  Nothing  would  pick  you 
up  like  a  glass  of  champagne.  Why  did  I  not  think 
of  it  before  ?  Lie  perfectly  still.  We  will  have  some 
champagne  in  one  moment." 

With  the  possibilities  held  out  by  the  idea  he 
turned  eagerly  from  the  couch,  and  crossed  the  room 
to  the  electric  bell  that  was  placed  beside  his  desk. 

But,  quick  as  lightning,  the  instant  his  back  was 
turned,  Clodagh  was  on  her  feet.  With  a  movement 
so  swift  and  silent  that  only  fear  could  have  inspired 
it,  she  slipped  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  was  speeding 
down  the  long  corridor  to  the  stairs. 

The  house  was  silent.  The  upper  portion  seemed 
darker  than  when  she  had  arrived.  The  hall  alone 
lay  brightly  lighted — a  place  of  hope  and  promise, 

443 


THE    GAMBLER 

figuring  the  world  outside  —  the  good,  wholesome 
world  lying  suddenly  within  her  reach. 

She  ran  down  the  broad  stairs,  indifferent  to  the 
fact  that  the  servant  who  had  admitted  her  had  risen 
from  a  seat  near  the  door  and  was  looking  at  her 
in  frank  surprise.  Her  ears  were  strained  to  catch 
any  sound  from  up  -  stairs,  her  eyes  were  on  the 
door. 

As  she  hurried  across  the  hall  the  man  came 
forward. 

"Do  you  require  a  cab,  madam?"  he  asked,  a  little 
doubtfully. 

"No.     Just  open  the  door." 

Still  with  a  shade  of  uncertainty  he  obeyed,  and 
at  the  same  instant  Deerehurst's  voice  sounded  from 
the  head  of  the  stairs. 

What  he  said — whether  he  addressed  her  or  the 
servant — Clodagh  never  knew.  At  the  mere  sound 
of  his  high,  thin  tones  she  went  blindly  forward 
through  the  open  door. 

As  she  passed  down  the  steps,  a  cab  wheeled  round 
the  corner  of  Carlton  House  Terrace.  Instinctively 
she  looked  towards  it,  still  animated  by  the  desire 
for  flight.  But  the  next  instant  she  looked  away 
again,  realizing  that  it  already  held  a  fare  and  that 
there  was  luggage  on  the  roof. 

In  the  perturbation  of  the  moment  she  failed  to 
see,  what  was  infinitely  more  material,  that  the  occxi- 
pant  of  the  cab  was  Valentine  Serracauld;  that  he 
had  leaned  forward  in  sudden,  eager  curiosity  as 
she  passed  down  the  steps  of  the  house  to  which  he 
was  driving;  and  that,  as  she  turned  her  head  in  his 
direction,  he  had  drawn  quickly  back  into  the  shadow 
of  his  seat. 

444 


SllK      WAS      SI'KIMJINC.      DOWN       TIIK      LONG     CORRIDOR     TO     TIIIC 

STAIRS  " 


XLIV 

ALMOST  immediately  a  second  cab  appeared,  and, 
^  linding  it  at  her  disposal,  Clodagh  hailed  it 
eagerly  and  gave  the  address  of  the  flat. 

As  the  horse  sped  away  in  the  direction  of  her 
home,  she  sat  almost  motionless,  her  only  gesture 
being  to  lift  her  hands  to  her  eyes  from  time  to  time, 
as  if  to  shut  out  some  near  and  unpleasant  vision. 
Life  in  its  crudest,  its  most  repulsive  aspect  stared  at 
her  out  of  the  darkness.  She  sat  crushed  by  the 
disillusionment  of  the  last  hour. 

And  a  new  furtiveness — born  of  the  new  realization 
— assailed  her  when  at  last  she  stepped  from  the  cab 
at  her  own  door.  With  an  instinctive  lessening  of 
her  natural  fearlessness  she  hurried  through  the  ves- 
tibule and  passed  straight  to  the  lift.  Gaining  her 
own  door  she  let  herself  in  by  her  latch-key,  and 
then  paused,  looking  fearfully  and  eagerly  about, 
in  expectation  of  some  unwished-for  sound.  But 
everything  in  the  flat  was  still;  and  crossing  the  hall, 
she  entered  her  own  room.  The  electric  light  had 
been  switched  on  and  the  place  set  in  order,  and  Simon- 
etta  sat  at  the  dressing-table,  mending  a  piece  of  lace. 

"No  one  has  come  back?"  Clodagh  asked. 

"No  one,  signora."  Simonetta  arose  and  turned 
to  her  mistress. 

Seeing  the  expression  on  her  face,  Clodagh  nervous- 
ly anticipated  her  words. 

445 


THE    GAMBLER 

"My  head  still  aches,"  she  said.  "I  think  you 
may  go.     I  should  like  to  be  alone." 

From  previous  knowledge  of  her  moods,  the  woman 
made  no  protestations,  but  folded  up  her  work  and 
went  quietly  towards  the  door. 

As  she  gained  it,  Clodagh  turned. 

"Simonetta!" 

"Yes,  signora?" 

"Tell  the  servants  they  are  to  say  nothing  to  any 
one  of  my  having  gone  out  to-night.  You  under- 
stand?" 

"I  understand,  signora." 

"That  is  all;  good-night." 

"Good-night,  signora." 

It  would  be  futile  to  relate  the  thoughts  that 
passed  through  Clodagh's  mind  in  the  hour  that 
followed  Simonetta's  departure;  but  when,  at  half- 
past  eleven,  Nance  returned  from  the  theatre,  and, 
hurrying  to  the  bedroom,  opened  the  door  swiftly 
and  anxiously,  she  was  standing  by  one  of  the  open 
windows,  her  hat  and  veil  still  on,  her  gaze  fixed 
resolutely  on  the  shadowy  trees  of  the  park. 

Crossing  the  threshold  softly,  Nance  tiptoed  into 
the  room. 

"Clo,"  she  whispered,  "how  are  you?  Better?" 
Then  she  paused  in  pleased  surprise. 

"What?  You've  been  out ?  Then  you  are  better. 
How  glad  Walter  will  be!  He  insisted  on  coming 
back  to  know  how  you  were." 

At  Gore's  name,  Clodagh  started  and  looked  round. 

"Walter  here?"  she  said. 

"Yes;  but,  Clo,  what's  the  matter?  You've  been 
crying!" 

Clodagh  stepped  to  her  side  and  laid  her  hand  im- 
peratively on  her  arm. 

446 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Hush!"  she  whispered.  "Go  back  at  once  and 
tell  Walter  that  I'm  — that  I'm  asleep.  Tell  him 
that  Simonetta  said  I  was  better  and  fell  asleep. 
Tell  him  anything  you  can  think  of  that  will  make 
him  happy  and  get  him  away.  He  must  be  got 
away.  I  can't  see  him.  Do  you  understand, 
Nance?     He  must  be  got  away." 

For  one  surprised  moment  Nance  looked  at  her 
sister;  then,  conquering  her  curiosity,  she  turned 
quietly  and  moved  to  the  door. 

"All  right,  darling,"  she  said,  reassuringly;  "I'll 
send  him  away  happy." 

Clodagh  put  her  hand  across  her  eyes. 

"Thank  God!"  she  said.  "If  you  had  asked  me 
one  more  question  I  couldn't  have  borne  it.  Send 
him  away,  and  then  come  back." 

In  silence  Nance  left  the  room.  Five  minutes 
passed;  ten  minutes;  then  Clodagh's  straining  ears 
caught  the  closing  of  the  outer  door,  and  her  hand 
dropped  to  her  side  in  a  gesture  of  excessive  relief. 

"Thank  God!"  she  said,  again. 

When  Nance  re-entered,  she  was  still  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  her  face  white  and  tear- 
stained,  her  figure  braced. 

"Nance,"  she  said,  almost  before  the  door  had 
closed  upon  her  sister,  "  I  am  going  to  tell  you  things 
I  have  never  told  you  before.  I  feel  I  shall  go  mad 
to-night  if  I  don't  tell  some  one.  Don't  ask  me  any 
questions.     Just  listen,  and — if  you  can — love  me." 

Nance  paused  just  inside  the  door.  Her  own  face 
looked  pale  above  the  shimmering  blue -and -silver 
of  her  evening-dress;  her  dark-blue  eyes  were  full  of  a 
peculiarly  tender  light. 

"  I  don't  love  you,  Clo,"  she  said,  below  her  breath. 
"I  adore  you.     Tell  me  whatever  you  like." 

447 


THE    GAMBLER 

Clodagh  threw  out  her  hands  despairingly. 
"  I'm  not  worth  love  like  that,"  she  cried.     "  You'll 
know  it  when  I've  finished.     Do  you  remember,  long 
ago,  Nance,  when  James  and  I  went  to  Venice  ?     Do 
you  remember  my  letters  from  Venice.?" 

Nance  showed  no  surprise  at  the  sudden,  irrelevant 
questions. 

"All  of  them,"  she  answered.     "  I  have  them  all." 
"Then  you  remember  how   I   met  Frances  Hope 
and  Val  Serracauld — and  Lord  Deerehurst .?" 
"I  remember." 

"I  was  very  much  alone  at  that  time,  Nance. 
James  was  only  a  shadow  in  my  life;  and  they — 
they  seemed  like  sunshine,  and  I  wanted  the  sun- 
shine. I  have  always  been  like  a  child,  turning  to 
bright,  tawdry  things." 

"  Clo,  you're  upset  to-night.  You're  ill." 
"No,  I'm  not.  I've  been  seeing  myself  and  seeing 
my  life  to-night.  I  liked  these  people — I  liked  these 
men  who  talked  to  me  and  flattered  me  and  ignored 
the  fact  that  I  had  a  husband — I  liked  them  and  en- 
couraged them.  And  one  night,  on  the  balcony  of 
the  Palazza  Ugochini— "  She  stopped,  then  made 
a  sudden  gesture,  as  if  to  sweep  unnecessary  things 
aside.  "But  I  won't  talk  of  that!"  she  cried.  "It 
is  the  later  time  I  want  to  come  to,  the  time  after 
James's  death  when  I  met  Frances  Hope  again." 
She  paused  to  regain  her  breath,  but  the  look  of  de- 
termination did  not  leave  her  face.  Her  dark  eyes 
seemed  almost  to  challenge  Nance's.  "When  I  went 
to  Monte  Carlo  with  Frances,"  she  went  on,  "I  did 
not  go  to  forget  poor  James's  death,  as  you  beheved; 
I  went  to  forget  something  else  that  had  made  me 
much  more  unhappy;  and  the  way  I  set  about  for- 
getting was  to  gamble.     Yes,  I  know  what  you  feel. 

448 


THE    GAMBLHR 

I  know  what  you  think!  Hut  it  cannot  alter  any- 
thing,'. 1  ^'ambled.  1  lost  large  sums  of  money  that 
Frances  advanced  me.  I  luid  to  borrow,  because  there 
were  formalities  to  be  gone  through  about  James's 
will  before  I  could  draw  my  income.  Then  I  came 
back  to  London;  I  met  Val  Scrracauld  and  Lord 
Deerehurst  again;  I  took  an  expensive  flat;  I  hved 
hke  people  six  times  as  well  oflE  as  myself;  I  gambled 
again — " 

"Clodagh!" 

Clodagh  put  up  her  hand. 

"Wait!  It's  all  leading  up  to  something.  I  was 
utterly  foolish,  utterly  mad.  I  l^orrowcd  again  to 
pay  my  debts  at  bridge.  Then  one  day  Frances 
asked  me  for  her  money.  It  seemed  like  the  end  of 
the  world;  but  it  was  a  debt  of  honor — it  couldn't 
be  shirked.  I  wrote  her  out  a  check  that  left  me 
beggared  of  the  half-year's  income  I  had  been  count- 
ing on  to  put  me  straight." 

"Oh,  Clo,  Clo!     Why  wasn't  I  here?" 

"Yes,  why  wasn't  somebody  here?  But  the  worst 
is  to  come.  I  did  not  know  where  to  look,  I  did  not 
know  where  to  turn,  when  suddenly — quite  suddenly 
— I  thought  of  your  thousand  pounds — " 

Nance  gave  a  little  gasp. 

"I  remembered  that.  And,  Nance — Nance,  can 
you  guess  what  happened?" 

Nance  did  not  attempt  to  answer. 

"I  took  that  thousand  pounds.  I  stole  it.  Don't 
say  anything!  Don't  try  to  excuse  me!  I  want  to 
face  things.  I  told  myself  I  would  write  and  tell 
you;  then  I  told  myself  I  would  say  it  when  you  came 
back.  But  when  you  did  come" — she  halted  for  a 
second — "when  you  did  come,  Nance,  you  loved  me, 
you  admired  me,  you  respected  me,  and  —  and  I 
'9  449 


THE    GAMBLER 

couldn't.  When  you  asked  me  for  the  money  that 
night  at  Tuffnell,  I  knew  I  would  have  to  find  it  and 
pay  it  back  without  making  any  confession  to  you." 

A  sound  that  was  almost  a  moan  escaped  Nance's 
lips. 

"Yes!"  Clodagh  cried;  "yes!  I  know  exactly  how 
great  a  fool  I  was.  But  what  is  done  is  done.  The 
day  you  drove  to  Wynchley  with  Lady  Diana  and 
Walter,  I  stayed  behind  to  write  to  Mr.  Barnard  and 
ask  him  to  advance  me  the  money.  But  somehow  I 
couldn't  do  that  either;  and  then — hate  me,  Nance! 
Hate  me,  if  you  like!  Lord  Deerehurst  came  to  me 
when  I  was  most  disheartened,  most  depressed,  and 
offered  to  lend  me  the  money." 

"And  you  took  it?"  Nance  said,  almost  quietly. 

"I  took  it.  Yes,  I  took  it.  I  have  always  been 
like  that  —  always  —  always ;  grasping  at  the  easy 
things,  letting  the  hard  ones  slip  by.  And  now! 
Now!" 

"Now?" 

"Nance,  listen!"  She  took  a  swift  step  forward. 
"It  was  because  of  that  loan  that  I  couldn't  slight 
him  since  we  came  back  to  town.  You  were  right — 
you  were  quite  right  in  all  you  advised ;  but  I  couldn't 
do  it.  He  had  lent  me  the  money.  He  had  seemed 
my  best  friend.  I  felt  I  couldn't  do  it— until  yester- 
day. 

"But  yesterday,  when  he  left,  and  Walter  spoke 
of  him,  I  knew  there  was  no  choice.  It  was  my  own 
happiness  or  his  friendship.  And  I — I  decided  for 
my  own  happiness." 

She  stopped,  and  drew  a  quick,  deep  breath. 

Nance  clasped  her  hands,  fearfully  conscious  that 
more  was  still  to  come. 

"When  I  have  a  difficult  thing  to  do,"  Clodagh 

45° 


THH    GAMBLER 

went  on,  "  I  must  do  it  quickly.  I  can't  wait,  I  can't 
prepare  and  plan,  I  can't  brood  over  things.  After 
Walter  left  yesterday,  1  decided  that  what  must  be 
done,  must  be  done  at  once.  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  would  see  Lord  Deerehurst  to-night;  that  I 
would  be  quite  candid  with  him,  explain  my  position 
— and  appeal  to  his  generosity  to  let  our  friendship 
end." 

"Then  to-night—?" 

"To-night  was  all  a  deception.  I  had  no  head- 
ache— I  wasn't  ill.  I  shammed  it  all,  that  I  might 
be  alone." 

"And  while  we  were  at  the  theatre,  you  sent  for 
him—?" 

"No!  I  went  to  Carlton  House  Terrace  to  see 
him." 

"Went  to  see  him!     Clo!" 

"I  said  you  could  hate  me!  Do  hate  me!  De- 
spise me!  Think  anything  you  like!  I  went  to  see 
him;  I  went  to  his  house — at  night,  alone — thinking, 
believing —  Oh!"  She  made  a  gesture  of  acute 
self-disgust.  "Nance,  need  I  say  it  all?  Need  I? 
Need  I?  Can't  you  understand  without  my  saying? 
All  that  I  had  imagined  about  his  friendship  was  un- 
true. Such  people  don't  understand  friendship.  All 
along  he  had  been  waiting,  quietly  and  silently,  like 
one  of  those  horrible  hawks  we  used  to  watch  at 
Orristown — waiting  to  swoop  down  when  the  right 
moment  came."  With  an  almost  hysterical  gesture 
she  put  her  hand  to  her  throat. 

Nance's  face  had  become  very  white,  but  in  the 
intensity  of  her  pity  and  love  she  did  not  dare  to 
approach  her  sister. 

"Clo,"  she  whispered,  "you  must  tell  Walter." 

Clodagh's  face  suddenly  flamed. 

451 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Tell  Walter!  Tell  Walter  that  I  owe  Deerehurst 
a  thousand  pounds — that  I  lied  to  him  and  to  you 
all  to-night,  that  I  might  go  alone  to  Deerehurst's 
house!  You  don't  know  Walter!  There  is  only  one 
thing  in  the  world  that  I  can  do — that  I  must  do — 
and  that  is  to  go  to  Ireland  and  arrange  about  rais- 
ing money  on  my  share  of  Orristown.  It  can  be  done 
somehow.  Father  did  it.  I  shall  not  eat  or  sleep 
or  think  until  that  thousand  pounds  is  paid." 

Prompted  by  a  swift  and  eager  impulse,  Nance's 
face  flushed,  and  she  ran  forward.  Then  almost  as 
she  reached  her  sister's  side  her  expression  changed. 
She  suddenly  curbed  her  impetousity. 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  a  good  idea,"  she  said,  slowly. 
"When  would  you  like  to  go?" 

"To-night  if  I  could.  I  feel;  oh,  I  feel—"  Clo- 
dagh  put  her  hands  over  her  face. 

Nance  stood  watching  her  for  a  moment  longer. 
Then  she  slipped  softly  to  her  side  and  put  one  arm 
about  her  neck. 

"Don't  be  sad,  darling,"  she  murmured.  "Don't 
be  sad.  You  shall  go  to  Ireland  to-morrow,  if  you 
Hke;  and  all  the  planning  —  all  the  explaining  to 
Walter  and  to  everybody — will  be  done  by  me." 

And  so  it  came  to  pass,  in  the  extraordinary  way 
with  which  events  sometimes  precipitate  themselves, 
that  at  four  o'clock  on  the  following  afternoon  Clo- 
dagh  was  borne  swiftly  out  of  Paddington  station  on 
the  first  stage  of  her  journey  to  Ireland. 

The  chain  of  incidents  that  had  been  forged  by 
Nance  to  make  this  departure  feasible,  as  well  as  pos- 
sible, had  been  too  minute  and  complex  to  make  any 
impression  upon  Clodagh's  mind.  Her  confession  the 
night  before  had  been  more  a  confession  to  herself 

452 


THE    GAMBLER 

than  a  conscious  unburdening  of  her  soul  to  other 
ears,  and,  having  made  it,  she  was  satisfied  to  resign 
herself  into  any  hands  that  were  wilHng  and  capable 
of  guiding  her  actions. 

The  first  incident  of  the  morning  had  been  a  visit 
from  Gore.  But  it  had  been  Nance  who  had  inter- 
viewed him  first;  and  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later, 
when  Clodagh  had  come  into  the  drawing-room, 
nervous  and  guilty,  she  had  found  him  full  of  sym- 
pathy and  soUcitude  for  what  he  believed  to  be  her 
sudden  recall  to  Ireland.  Then  had  come  the  Est- 
coits,  and  with  their  advent  more  solicitude  and 
more  sympathy.  Lunch-time  had  crept  upon  them 
almost  unawares,  and — again  on  Nance's  initiative — 
the  whole  party  had  adjourned  to  the  Hyde  Park 
Hotel  and  had  partaken  of  a  meal  in  company. 

More  than  once  during  the  crowded  hours  of  the 
morning,  Clodagh  had  striven  to  draw  her  sister 
aside;  but  Nance,  animated  by  an  unusual  excite- 
ment, had  evaded  every  possibihty  of  a  tcte-k- 
tete. 

It  was  only  at  the  door  of  the  railway  carriage, 
when  Gore  and  Estcoit  were  superintending  the 
labelling  of  her  luggage,  and  Mrs.  Estcoit  and  Daisy 
were  buying  books  and  papers  for  her  amusement, 
that  at  last  they  had  a  word  in  private.  Clodagh 
was  standing  in  the  open  door^vay  of  the  carriage, 
and  Nance  was  on  the  step,  when  quite  suddenly  the 
latter  put  up  her  hand  and  pressed  a  letter  between 
her  sister's  fingers. 

"My  proper  good-bye  is  in  this  letter,  darling," 
she  said.  "  I  couldn't  say  it  before  everybody.  Kiss 
mc,  will  you  ?" 

Impulsively  Clodagh  bent  forward,  and  the  sisters 
exchanged  a  long  kiss. 

453 


THE    GAMBLER 

"You  have  been  an  angel,  Nance.  I  will  thank 
you  when— when — " 

"No!  No!  There  can  never  be  thanks  between 
you  and  me.  We  are  one.  Remember  that  always! 
Always,  Clo — always!" 

She  drew  back  quickly  as  the  rest  of  the  party 
came  hurrying  to  the  carriage. 

And  so  the  good-byes  had  all  been  said,  and  the 
train  had  steamed  out  of  the  station ;  she  had  watched 
the  platform  melt  into  obscurity  and  then  had  dropped 
into  her  seat  with  that  sense  of  quiet — of  flatness — 
that  follows  the  moments  of  parting. 

The  long  railway  journey  and  the  night  crossing 
to  Ireland  still  lay  between  her  and  action.  She 
looked  impatiently  at  her  travelling  companions, 
an  uninteresting  brother  and  sister  who  had  already 
buried  themselves  behind  newspapers  in  their  re- 
spective corners  of  the  carriage,  and  almost  angrily 
she  turned  to  the  heap  of  magazines  lying  beside  her; 
but  as  she  did  so  her  glance  brightened.  Nance's 
letter  was  still  to  be  read. 

In  the  midst  of  her  perplexities  a  tender  thought 
flashed  over  her  mind  as  she  opened  the  envelope, 
and  her  face  softened  instinctively  as  she  began  to 
read.  But  gradually,  as  her  glance  passed  from 
one  line  to  another,  her  expression  changed,  she  sat 
upright  in  her  seat,  her  bearing  altered  in  a  sudden, 
inexplicable  manner.     The  letter  began: 

"Darling,  darling  Clo, — I  must  have  seemed  a  wretch 
last  night  and  to-day!  I  mean  I  must  have  seemed  very 
strange,  showing  hardly  any  surprise  or  sympathy  at  any- 
thing you  told  me,  and  taking  your  going  to  Ireland  as  though 
it  were  a  thing  that  happened  every  day.  But,  Clo,  it  wasn't 
because  I  didn't  love  and  worship  you,  and  feel  for  you  in 
every  tiny  thing,  but  because  I  was  afraid  you  would  guess 

454 


SIIK    I)Ri;W    HAi   K    tjl    UKLV    AS     till-:    KKST    l)K    TIIK     I'AkTV    CAMK 
IHKRVIN'O    TO    TIIK     TARRIAr.!;" 


THli    GAMBLER 

what  was  really  in  my  mind — what  I  was  plotting  and  plan- 
ning all   the   time. 

"Clo,  1  wanted  you  to  go  to  Ireland  because — oh,  do  for- 
give me  for  even  writing  it! — I  wanted  tt)  get  you  away. 

"Dearest,  you  arc  to  do  no  more  silly  things.  At  the  risk 
of  hurting  you,  I  am  saying  this.  You  used  to  say  long  ago 
that  1  saw  more  than  you,  because  I  looked  on,  instead  of 
doing  things  myself.  Clo,  you  are  nut  to  raise  money  on 
Orristown,  because  you  have  no  need  to  do  it.  Lord  Deere- 
hurst  has  been  paid  his  thousand  pounds  and  you  are  free — 
finite  free. 

"My  little  sister,  imagine  that  my  arms  are  round  your 
neck  so  tight  that  you  can't  be  vexed!  When  you  told  me 
last  night  that  my  thou.sand  pounds  really  belonged  to  him, 
my  first  thought  was  to  say,  'Well,  let's  give  him  back  as 
much  of  it  as  wo  have  left!'  But  I  stopped  in  lime.  You 
were  not  in  the  mood  last  night  to  take  the  most  loving 
favor  in  the  world.  You  wanted  to  sacrifice  yourself;  so 
instead  of  saying  what  was  in  my  heart,  I  locked  it  up  closely 
and  thought  about  it  all  night,  and  before  you  were  awake 
this  morning  I  sent  for  Pierce  and  asked  him  to  lend  me 
three  hundred  pounds — the  three  hundred  we  had  spent  out 
of  the  thousand. 

"Don't  say  anything,  darling!  Don't  be  angry!  Don't 
even  think!  Pierce  was  perfectly  sweet;  he  never  asked  one 
question,  and  at  three  o'clock  to-day,  just  after  we  came 
back  from  lunch,  I  sent  the  thousand  pounds  in  notes  to 
Carlton  House  Terrace,  with  a  card  of  yours  enclosed. 

"  Darling,  don't  be  vexed!  Don't  question  it!  It  is  right, 
I  know.      It  was  a  debt  of  honor,  in  the  fullest  sense. 

"And  now,  Clo,  it's  all  iinished,  all  done  with,  all  passed, 
and  you  can  repay  me  the  money  slowly  in  years  and  years. 
Be  happy!  Oh,  darling,  be  happy!  Go  back  to  Orristown. 
as  I  would  have  you  to  go  back,  with  your  heart  full  of  all 
the  great,  good,  true  love  that  Walter  and  I  have  for  you. 

"Ride  and  walk  and  swim,  and  be  without  one  care,  and 
in  a  week  or  two,  when  the  hateful  thought  of  last  night  has 
been  swept  away  by  the  splendid,  strong  sea-winds,  come 
back  to  us,  a  newer,  wiser,  happier  Clodagh. 

"Darling,  I  am,  now  and  always, 

"Your  true  sister, 

"Nance." 

455 


THE    GAMBLER 

Clodagh  closed  the  letter;  then  suddenly  she  rose 
from  her  seat  and  stepped  from  the  carriage  into  the 
narrow  corridor. 

The  engine  was  swinging  forward  at  great  speed; 
the  train  itself  was  swaying  to  the  swift  motion; 
outside,  the  pleasant  English  country  seemed  to 
fly  past  the  long  line  of  windows.  For  a  second 
she  stood  by  the  carriage  door;  then  she  stepped 
forward  to  the  open  window  and,  leaning  out,  let  the 
strong  current  of  air  play  upon  her  face,  blowing 
back  the  hair  from  her  temples. 

How  good  God  was!  How  good  the  world  was! 
The  great  machinery  of  the  train — the  great  wheels 
of  life — ground  out  the  same  sudden  song.  She  was 
free!  By  the  unlimited  power  of  love,  she  had  been 
made  free! 


XLV 

IT  was  eleven  o'clock  on  the  day  following  when 
Clodagh's  train  steamed  into  the  little  station  of 
Muskeere.  Her  boat  had  arrived  in  Cork  in  the  early- 
hours  of  the  morning;  but  she  had  only  given  herself 
time  to  take  a  hurried  breakfast  at  one  of  the  hotels 
before  driving  to  the  railway  station.  Now  that  she 
had  set  foot  in  Ireland,  the  racial  love  of  home  had 
awakened  in  her,  making  the  hours  leaden  until  she 
could  find  herself  at  Orristown. 

The  great  lifting  of  the  spirit  that  Nance's  letter 
had  brought  into  being  had  not  subsided  since  the 
moment  she  had  arisen  from  her  seat  in  the  train, 
filled  with  the  knowledge  that  an  insupportable 
burden  had  been  lifted  from  her.  At  Reading  she 
had  despatched  an  answering  telegram  to  her  sister, 
and  for  nearly  an  hour  afterwards  she  had  sat  in  the 
corner  of  her  carriage,  covering  sheet  after  sheet  of 
note-paper  with  hasty  pencilling.  Two  letters  were 
the  result:  one  to  Nance,  all  love,  all  spontaneous 
gratitude;  the  other  to  Gore,  full  of  tenderness,  of 
promise,  of  almost  vehement  reassurance. 

Thus  the  long  and  usually  monotonous  train  jour- 
ney ran  itself  out,  and  in  the  confused  darkness  of  the 
crowded  landing-stage  she  went  on  board  the  boat 
at  New  Milford. 

The  crossing  of  the  sea  had  ever  been  a  delight  to 
Clodagh.     The  love  of  the  sea — the  almost  mystical 

457 


THE    GAMBLER 

knowledge  of  it — was  in  her  blood.  And  that  night 
for  many  hours  she  had  paced  the  deck,  rejoicing 
after  a  fashion  understood  by  few  in  each  forward 
plunge  of  the  vessel — in  the  sense  of  exhilaration  and 
action  conveyed  each  time  the  prow  dipped  to  cut 
the  waves  and  send  the  spray  flying. 

She  was  going  home.  There  had  seemed  a  curious, 
thrilling  sensation  in  the  knowledge.  She  was  going 
home.  After  many  experiences,  she  was  returning 
to  the  spot  where  her  life  had  first  separated  its 
thread  from  the  great  tapestry  of  existence  —  the 
spot  where  happiness  and  unhappiness  had  first  pre- 
sented themselves  as  differentiated  things — where  the 
elemental  facts  of  pain  and  pleasure  had  been  first 
demonstrated  to  her  unformed  mind.  The  memory 
of  Orristown  had  materialized  as  she  had  walked 
to  and  fro  under  the  summer  sky  powdered  with 
faint  stars,  and  she  had  closed  her  eyes  until  the  salt 
sting  of  the  sea  had  conjured  up  the  square,  white 
house,  the  green  fields,  and  the  long,  shelving  rocks. 

The  picture  had  remained  with  her  long  after  she 
retired  to  her  cabin,  and  had  been  still  before  her 
mind  when  the  first  low  line  of  Irish  land  had  broken 
across  her  vision  in  the  silvery  morning.  Then  it 
had  been  dispersed  by  more  immediate  things — the 
arrival  at  Cork — the  breakfast — the  drive  across  the 
town  to  the  Muskeere  train — until  at  last  the  shrill 
whistle  of  the  small  engine,  announcing  that  her 
destination  was  reached,  swept  everything  but  the 
incidents  of  the  moment  from  her  consideration. 

As  the  train  stopped  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and 
leaned  out  of  the  window.  How  intensely  familiar 
it  was — the  narrow  platform;  the  wooden  pahng, 
behind  which  the  incursion  of  summer  visitors  to 
Muskeere  congregated  each  day  to  watch  the  Cork 

458 


THE    GAMBLER 

trains    arrive;    the    slovenly,    good-natured    porter, 
absolutely  unaltered  by  the  passage  of  time. 

Her  thoughts  swam  as  she  tried  vainly  to  recon- 
cile her  own  many  experiences  with  this  amazing 
changelessness.  Then  all  need  for  such  comparison 
was  brushed  aside  as  a  tall  figure  came  striding  down 
the  platform,  followed  by  a  couple  of  dogs,  and  she 
recognized  Laurence  Asshlin. 

Her  first  conscious  thought  was  "How  fine-looking 
he  has  grown!"  her  second  "How  badly  his  clothes 
are  made!"  Then  she  laughed  to  herself  from  happi- 
ness, and  from  that  sense  of  comradeship  and  clannish- 
ness  to  which  the  Irish  nature  is  so  susceptible. 

"Larr>'!"  she  cried,  a  moment  later,  as  she  threw 
the  carriage  door  open. 

But  her  dog  Mick  was  the  first  to  gain  her  side. 
Leaping  forward  at  sound  of  her  voice,  he  sprang 
into  the  carriage,  whimpering  with  joy. 

"Mick!  Darling  Mick!  Oh,  you  bad  thing!" 
She  laughed  again  delightedly;  then  she  turned, 
flushed  and  radiant,  to  greet  her  cousin. 

"Hold  him,  Larry.  That's  better.  Now,  how 
are  you?"  She  held  out  her  hand  and  laid  it  in 
Asshlin's  disengaged  one. 

Larry  flushed  with  excitement  and  embarrassment. 

"How  are  you,  Clo  ?  You're  awfully  unchanged. 
Let  me  help  you  out.  The  trap  is  waiting." 
.  As  in  a  dream,  she  passed  through  the  little  station 
that  had  seemed  so  large  and  imposing  to  her  childish 
eyes  in  the  time  when  a  day's  shopping  in  Cork  had 
represented  the  acme  of  adventure  and  enterprise; 
but  half-way  down  the  narrow  platform  she  paused. 

"Oh,  the  sea,  Larry!"  she  exclaimed,  drawing  in  a 
long,  deep  breath;  "the  heavenly  smell  of  the  sea!" 
Then  she  suddenly  caught  sight  of  Burke,  waiting 

459 


THE    GAMBLER 

as  he  might  have  waited  six  years  ago,  beside  the 
high,  old-fashioned  trap. 

"The  same  trap!"  she  said,  with  a  httle  gasp. 

AsshHn  laughed. 

"The  same,  only  for  a  coat  of  varnish.  But  won't 
you  speak  to  Tim?"  He  added  the  last  a  trifle 
diffidently,  with  a  shy  glance  at  her  costly  clothes 
and  her  general  air  of  refinement  and  distinction. 

Without  a  word  she  went  forward. 

"Tim!"  she  said,  very  softly. 

The  old  man  turned  quickly,  then  drew  back. 

But  Clodagh  held  out  her  hand,  regardless  of  the 
staring  summer  visitors. 

"Tim,  I'm  not  so  changed  that  you  don't  know 
me?" 

The  old  man  remained  motionless. 

"I'd  know  you  if  I  was  under  the  sod  and  the  sound 
of  your  voice  come  anear  me,"  he  said,  almost  sol- 
emnly. 

Clodagh  felt  her  throat  tighten  as  the  old,  horny 
hand  was  slowly  extended  to  clasp  her  own. 

"I'm  glad  to  be  home,  Tim,"  she  said,  impulsively; 
"I'm  glad  to  be  home." 

There  was  a  delay  of  several  minutes  while  the 
porter  extricated  her  luggage  from  the  van,  and  dur- 
ing this  interval  she  found  time  to  admire  the  young 
horse,  which  had  been  bred  at  Orristown,  and  to 
make  friends  with  the  Irish  terrier  that  had  been 
Mick's  companion  on  the  run  to  Muskeere,  besides 
asking  a  dozen  questions  concerning  people  and 
things  at  Carrigmore.  Then  at  last  the  trunk  was 
deposited  under  the  roomy  seat  of  the  trap,  and 
Asshlin  stepped  forward  to  help  her  into  her  place. 

"Larry,"  she  said,  pausing  with  her  foot  on  the 
step,  "may  I  drive?     I'd  love  to  drive." 

460 


THE    GAMBLER 

Asshlin  gave  a  ready  assent,  and,  taking  his  own 
seat,  handed  her  the  reins,  while  Burke  mounted  to 
the  back  of  the  trap. 

It  was  wonderful  to  Clodagh,  that  first  gathering 
up  of  reins  rendered  hard  by  long  service  and  Irish 
rain  —  that  first  forward  start  into  the  strong,  sea- 
scented  air.  A  sudden  joy  filled  her.  She  was  young ; 
the  world  was  a  goodly  place,  when  one  studied  it  in 
this  untainted  atmosphere;  above  all,  she  was  pos- 
sessor of  the  great  prize — love.  Far  away,  in  the 
tumult  and  press  of  the  greatest  city  in  the  world, 
the  man  she  set  above  all  others,  thought  of  her — 
waited  for  her — trusted  her. 

Out  of  her  own  bright  confidence,  she  made  the 
sunny  morning  brighter,  as  she  drove  along  the  well- 
remembered  roads,  halting  every  mile  or  so  to  gaze 
at  some  thrice-familiar  object  that  stood  now  as  it 
had  stood  in  the  days  of  her  babyhood. 

At  last  Carrigmore  was  reached.  She  saw  the 
clustering  pink -and -white  cottages  of  the  village; 
the  sleeping  ruins  guarded  by  the  "  round-tower" ;  the 
long,  yellow  strand  and  the  glassy  bay,  on  whose 
farther  headland  stood  the  house  of  Orristown — a 
square  white  patch  to  be  seen  for  many  miles.  She 
looked  at  it  all  long  and  closely. 

"Oh,  Larry,"  she  said,  below  her  breath,  "how 
wonderfully  the  same  it  is!  Nance  told  me,  but  I 
couldn't  imagine  it.  Why,  there's  scarcely  a  weed 
changed!" 

Asshlin  laughed  a  little. 

"We  didn't  think  you'd  care  much  about  it,  after 
Italy  and  places,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  touch  of  shy 
awkwardness  that  seemed  more  than  ever  to  link 
the  present  with  the  past. 

"Not  care  about  it!     Larry!     Her  voice  quivered; 

461 


THE    GAMBLER 

then  she  laughed  quickly,  and  touched  the  horse  with 
the  whip. 

"Shall  we  go  straight  to  Orristown,  or  shall  I  run 
in  and  see  Aunt  Fan?" 

Asshlin  looked  slightly  distressed. 

"You're  tired  after  the  journey,"  he  said.  "And, 
anyway,  it's  one  of  her  bad  days.  They  come  oftener 
than  ever  now.  To-morrow  she'll  enjoy  seeing  you 
more." 

A  quick  recollection  of  her  aunt  on  her  bad  days 
swept  over  Clodagh's  mind,  and  she  looked  up  sud- 
denly into  Larry's  handsome,  spirited  face. 

"Is  she  often  cross  now,  Larry?"  she  asked,  as  she 
might  have  asked  when  they  were  children. 

Asshlin  turned  at  the  sound  of  her  voice ;  his  diffi- 
dence forsook  him;  the  old  comradeship,  the  old  sense 
of  sympathy  and  understanding  came  rushing  back. 

"She  is  harder  than  ever  to  get  on  with,"  he  said. 
"And  every  day  seems  worse  than  the  last.  Some- 
times"— he  stopped,  but  a  shadow  of  discontent,  of 
depression,  had  darkened  his  face. 

"Poor  Larry!"  Clodagh  said,  very  softly.  And 
without  further  comment  she  turned  the  horse's 
head  in  the  direction  of  Orristown. 

The  cousins  spoke  rather  less  during  the  drive  along 
the  low,  flat  road  lying  parallel  to  the  strand;  but, 
despite  the  silence,  each  was  conscious  of  an  awakened 
fellowship,  and  as  they  descended  the  sharp  hill  that 
led  to  the  gates  of  Orristown,  Clodagh  pointed  with 
her  whip  to  where  the  sky  hung  low  and  brooding 
over  the  glassy  line  of  the  horizon. 

"This  heat  will  break  in  a  storm,  Larry,"  she  said, 
aware  of  having  spoken  the  same  words  a  hundred 
times  in  almost  the  same  spot. 

Asshlin  scanned  the  sea  thoughtfully. 

462 


THE    GAMBLER 

"I  believe  you're  right,"  he  answered.  "But  a 
puff  of  wind  would  do  no  harm.  You'd  like  a  scud 
across  the  bay,  wouldn't  you?" 

Clodagh's  eyes  danced. 

"Love  it!"  she  substituted,  enthusiastically- 
"Come  for  me  at  ten  to-morrow,  Larry,  and  we'l 
sail  back  together  to  Carrigmore.  We'll  have  a  long 
day  there  and  see  ever>ahing,  and  then  you'll  come 
back  with  me  to  dinnei."  She  flashed  a  quick  smile 
at  him  as  she  piloted  the  trap  through  the  rusty  gates. 

As  they  swept  up  the  long,  narrow  drive,  she  looked 
eagerly  to  right  and  left;  then  suddenly  she  gave  a 
little  laugh  of  pleasure,  and  waved  her  whip  towards 
a  field  that  skirted  the  avenue,  in  which  a  very  old 
man  had  paused  in  the  act  of  digging  potatoes,  and 
now  stood  in  an  attitude  of  rigid  salutation,  a  broken, 
felt  hat  held  above  his  head. 

"Look,  Larry!  It's  Pat  Foley!  Poor  old  Pat! 
Isn't  it  lovely  the  way  every  one  remembers?" 

Her  eyes  filled  with  sudden  tears  as  they  passed 
the  last  clump  of  trees  and  came  full  upon  the  old 
white  house;  then,  as  the  horse  drew  up  sharply  under 
the  well-remembered  iron  balcony,  she  gave  a  little 
cry  and  threw  the  reins  to  Asshlin. 

Hannah  had  opened  the  hall-door,  and  stood  broad- 
faced,  honest,  beaming  as  of  old. 

"My  darlin'!"  she  cried.     "My  darlin'!" 

And  in  an  instant,  regardless  of  her  dress  and  of 
the  eyes  of  Asshlin  and  Burke,  Clodagh  sprang  to 
the  ground  and  rushed  into  the  arms  that  had  so 
often  sheltered  her. 

At  eight  o'clock  on  the  same  evening,  Clodagh, 
with  Mick  at  her  feet,  sat  in  a  shabby  leather  arm- 
chair by  the  open  window  of  the  bedroom  that  she 

463 


THE    GAMBLER 

had  shared  with  Nance  for  so  many  3^ears.  Outside 
the  soft  beating  of  the  sea  against  the  rocks  came  to 
her  ears  with  strange  famiharity;  by  her  side  stood 
a  small  table  set  out  with  a  homely  tea ;  while  in  front 
of  her,  jealously  watchful  that  she  did  justice  to  the 
meal,  stood  Hannah, 

"An'  'tis  a  millonaire  they  tells  me  the  child  is 
goin'  to  marry?"  she  asked,  in  one  of  her  tentative, 
round-about  questions.  "Glory  be  to  God,  an'  she 
only  out  of  the  school!" 

Clodagh  glanced  through  the  window  at  the  golden 
evening  sky. 

"You  married  me  before  I  had  been  to  school, 
Hannah,"  she  said,  below  her  breath. 

The  old,  shrewd  light  gleamed  in  Hannah's  eyes. 
She  moved  awkwardly  and  yet  softly  round  the  tea- 
table  and  laid  her  broad  hand  on  Clodagh's  shoulder. 

"Many's  the  day  I  do  be  ponderin'  on  that  match. 
Miss  Clodagh,"  she  said,  earnestly.  "The  ways  of 
God  are  dark;  and  what  I  done,  I  done  for  the  best." 

Clodagh,  touched  by  the  deep  solicitude  of  the  voice, 
put  her  own  smooth  hand  over  the  old  rough  one. 

"I'm  sure  God  did  everything  as  it  should  be 
done,  Hannah.  Because  it — it  has  all  come  right  in 
the  end." 

Hannah's  hand  dropped  from  her  shoulder  in  sud- 
den excitement. 

"Miss    Clodagh,"    she    said,    breathlessly  —  "Miss 
Clodagh,  is  it  a  husband  you'll  be  thinkin'  to  take?" 
'  Again   Clodagh's   gaze   wandered   across   the   sky, 
melting  now  from  gold  to  orange. 

"There  is  a  man  who  wants  to  take  me  for  his 
wife,  Hannah,"  she  corrected,  very  gently. 

"An'  you  do  be  puttin'  him  before  everythin'  in 
the  world?" 

464 


THE    GAMBLER 

Clodagh  turned  swiftly  and  met  the  small,  anxious 
eyes. 

"So  much  before  everything,  that  if  I  were  to  lose 
him  now  I  should  lose" — she  paused  for  an  instant, 
then  added — "myself." 

Hannah's  eyes  narrowed  in  the  intensity  of  her 
concern. 

"An'  he  do  be  carin'  for  you.  Miss  Clodagh  ?" 

Clodagh  leaned  forward,  and  the  warm  light  from 
the  sunset  touched  and  transfigured  her  face. 

"Yes.     He  cares,"  she  said,  very  slowly. 
30 


XLVI 

LATE  on  the  afternoon  that  followed  her  arrival, 
^  Clodagh  —  with  Larry  in  attendance  —  climbed 
up  the  uneven  path  that  led  from  the  Orristown 
boat-cove  to  the  house.  A  considerable  change  had 
taken  place  in  the  weather  since  the  previous  evening. 
The  sky  no  longer  hung  low  and  motionless  above  the 
horizon-line;  the  sea  no  longer  shone  white  and 
polished  as  a  mirror.  A  gale  had  sprung  up,  breaking 
the  clouds  and  whipping  the  sea  into  small,  green 
waves,  and  more  than  once,  as  the  cousins  clambered 
up  the  rugged  track,  Asshlin  paused  to  look  back  at 
his  small  boat,  lying  with  furled  sail  and  shipped 
oars  on  the  shingle. 

"I  hope  I've  beached  her  high  enough,"  he  said. 
"There  will  be  a  big  sea  to-night." 

Clodagh  laughed.  The  prospect  of  a  storm  stirred 
her.  She  felt  boundlessly  happy,  boundlessly  con- 
fident in  this  free,  open  life. 

The  night  before,  after  Larry  had  left  her  and  the 
first  tinge  of  twilight  had  fallen  across  the  old  house, 
there  had  been  a  moment  in  which  the  ghosts  of 
memory  had  threatened  to  assail  her  —  to  come 
trooping  up  the  gaunt  staircase  and  through  the 
great,  bare  rooms.  But  her  will  had  conquered ;  she 
had  dispelled  the  phantoms,  and  had  slept  dream- 
lessly  in  the  big  four-post  bed. 

In  the  morning  she  had  awakened,  as  James  Mil- 

466 


THE    GAMBLER 

banke  had  awakened  long  ago,  to  a  world  of  light 
and  joy  —  but  with  this  difference,  that  to  him  the 
world  had  been  a  thing  to  speculate  upon  and  study, 
while  to  her  it  was  a  thing  familiar — understood — 
possessed.  While  she  partook  of  breakfast,  and 
while  she  visited  the  stables,  she  kept  Hannah  by  her 
side,  learning  from  her  the  vicissitudes  of  the  many 
humble  lives  around  Orristown  that  had  been  known 
to  her  since  childhood ;  then,  before  the  tales  had  been 
half  recounted,  Larry  had  arrived  in  his  boat,  and 
the  two  cousins,  like  children  playing  at  a  long-loved 
game,  had  gone  down  together  to  the  boat-cove  to 
where  the  little  craft  flashed  its  white  sail  like  a  sea- 
gull in  the  sun,  and  danced  with  impatience  to  be 
off  across  the  crisp,  green  waves. 

Clodagh's  first  act  on  landing  at  Carrigmore  had 
been  to  visit  the  little,  ivy-covered  post-office,  in  the 
hope  that  the  Orristown  letters  might  possibly  be  in- 
tercepted. But  the  postman  had  already  left  the 
village,  and  she  had  no  choice  but  to  wait  patiently 
for  Gore's  first  letter  until  her  return  in  the  evening. 
But  the  postponement  had  not  been  sufficient  to 
damp  her  spirits,  and  she  had  started  on  her  various 
expeditions  with  a  very  light  heart.  Last  of  all 
had  come  the  visit  to  Mrs.  Asshlin,  who  now  rarely 
left  her  room,  but  lay  all  day  in  the  semilight  made 
by  drawn  blinds,  drinking  numerous  cups  of  strong 
tea,  and  keeping  up  a  fitful  murmur  of  complaint. 

With  senses  that  rebelled  against  the  depressing 
atmosphere,  Clodagh  had  entered  the  bedroom  and 
had  sat  for  nearly  an  hour  beside  her  aunt's  couch, 
listening  with  all  the  patience  she  could  muster  to 
the  oft-repeated  tale  of  discontent  and  ill-health. 
Then  at  last,  feeling  that  duty  could  demand  no  more, 
she  had  risen  and  kissed  Mrs.  Asshlin's  worn  cheek. 

467 


THE    GAMBLER 

"We  must  have  you  over  in  London,  Aunt  Fan," 
she  said,  cheerfully.  "We  must  take  you  to  a  really 
good  doctor  and  have  you  made  quite  well." 

But  Mrs.  Asshlin  had  shaken  her  head  dubiously. 

"I  never  had  faith  in  really  good  doctors  since 
Molyneaux  came  down  to  see  your  poor  father." 

To  this  there  seemed  no  possible  response;  so  Clo- 
dagh  had  kissed  her  aunt  once  more,  and,  with  a 
promise  that  she  would  return  the  next  day,  had 
slipped  silently  out  of  the  gloomy  room  followed  by 
Larry.  Outside,  in  the  vivid  daylight,  the  cousins 
had  looked  at  each  other  involuntarily. 

"Sometimes  life  seems  awful,  Clo,"  Asshlin  had 
said,  in  a  despondent  voice.  And  with  a  momentary 
shock  Clodagh  had  caught  a  gleam  of  the  restlessness, 
the  brooding  gloom,  that  used  long  ago  to  settle  on 
the  face  of  her  father. 

"Why  don't  you  leave  Carrigmore,  Larry?"  she 
had  said,  quickl3^  "  It's  a  wonderful  place  to  rest  in, 
but  it's  not  the  place  for  the  whole  of  a  man's  life." 

Asshlin  had  made  a  descriptive  gesture,  indicating 
the  house  behind  him;  then,  with  a  sudden  impulse 
of  confidence,  he  had  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket, 
and  had  drawn  out  six  five-pound  notes. 

"When  this  represents  the  whole  exchequer  for  the 
next  three  months,  there  isn't  much  question  of  for- 
eign travel— or  fortune-seeking,"  he  had  said.  "  Come 
along!     The  gale  is  freshening!" 

And  Clodagh  had  obeyed,  depressed  for  the  mo- 
ment by  contact  with  that  hidden  poverty  of  the 
proud  and  well-born  that  is  one  of  the  most  pathetic 
factors  in  the  scheme  of  Irish  social  life.  She  had 
longed  ardently  to  make  some  suggestion,  some  offer 
of  help,  to  this  bright,  spirited  boy,  who  was  wasting 
the  best  years  God  had  given  him  in  coping  with  an 

468 


THE    GAMBLER 

estate  that  could  never  be  made  to  pay,  and  attend- 
ing upon  an  invalid  who  hovered  perpetually  on  the 
borderland  of  shadows;  but  a  native  comprehension 
of  the  position  held  her  dumb.  An  offer  of  help 
made  on  the  moment  of  his  confidence  would  set  an 
irrevocable  barrier  between  them  in  the  very  dawn- 
ing of  their  renewed  friendship. 

So  she  had  talked  to  him  of  the  crops,  of  the  fishing, 
of  the  Orristown  live-stock,  while  the  boat  carried 
them  back  across  the  bay.  And  the  sail  homeward 
under  the  scudding  clouds,  while  the  little  boat 
danced  and  dipped  to  the  buffeting  of  the  waves,  had 
erased  the  passing  gloom ;  and  now,  as  they  climbed 
the  steep  pathway  and  passed  across  the  fields  to  the 
house,  Clodagh's  heart  was  beating  high  in  her  own 
egotistical  joy  at  the  mere  fact  of  life. 

She  laughed  out  of  sheer  pleasure,  as  they  passed 
round  the  house  and  four  or  five  dogs  rushed  forth 
from  the  hall  to  greet  them,  and,  stooping  impulsively, 
she  drew  Mick  close  to  her  and  kissed  his  rough  head. 

"Larry,  do  you  remember  how  you  won  him  from 
me  long  ago  and  how  nobly  you  gave  him  back?  I 
have  never  forgotten  it."  She  smiled  affectionately 
at  her  tall  young  cousin,  and,  freeing  Mick,  led  the 
way  into  the  house. 

On  the  shabby  hall  table,  where  the  silver  sconces 
stood  as  of  old,  lay  a  small  heap  of  letters,  and,  with 
an  exclamation  of  pleasure,  Clodagh  ran  forward  and 
picked  them  up,  passing  them  hastily  in  review. 

There  was  a  thick,  important-looking  one  from 
Nance.  And  —  yes!  the  first  letter  from  Gore — the 
letter  she  had  been  waiting  for. 

For  an  instant  her  face  fell.  It  felt  thin  and  dis- 
appointing, as  she  held  the  envelope  between  her 
fingers.      But    almost    at    once    it    cleared.      After 

469 


THE    GAMBLER 

all,  men  had  not  as  much  time  as  women  for  the 
writing  of  letters.  And  this  had  been  written  on  the 
day  of  her  departure.  She  looked  at  the  postmark — 
"London — 10.30."  Of  course  he  had  only  had  time 
to  scribble  a  line.  How  good  and  thoughtful  of  him 
even  to  have  sent  that  line!  She  turned  and  looked 
at  Larry,  her  face  radiant  once  more. 

"Larry,"  she  said,  "will  you  tell  Burke  that  we'll 
dine  in  half  an  hour,  if  Hannah  has  everything  ready  ? 
And  tell  them  to  have  candles  in  all  the  sconces. 
It  is  to  be  a  dinner-party,  you  know."  She  gave  a 
pleasant  little  laugh  and  turned  towards  the  stairs, 
closing  her  fingers  over  her  letters  in  a  deHghtful, 
secret  sense  of  anticipation  and  possession. 

Her  own  room  was  filled  with  a  cold,  gray  light  as 
she  entered  it — a  peculiar  light  drawn  from  the  wind- 
swept sky  and  the  pale,  agitated  waters — and  she 
noticed,  as  she  crossed  the  threshold,  that  the  wind 
roared  draughtily  down  the  wide  chimney,  in  a  way 
that  suggested  autumn  and  autumnal  gales.  But 
the  circumstance  made  little  impression;  she  carried 
her  own  world  in  her  heart — and  here,  in  the  letter 
Gore  had  written. 

In  a  second  impulse  of  love,  she  laid  the  others 
aside,  and  opened  Gore's  envelope.  Drawing  out 
the  letter,  she  held  it  for  a  moment  against  her  face. 
On  this  paper  his  hand  had  rested  when  he  wrote  to 
her.  There  was  a  sense  of  personal  contact  in  the 
mere  thought.  Then,  at  last,  with  a  smile  at  her 
own  sentiment,  she  opened  it  slowly  and  smoothed 
out  the  pages. 

The  written  lines — scarcely  more  than  a  dozen 
in  number — danced  for  an  instant  before  her  eyes, 
then  focussed  themselves  with  terrible  distinctness. 

There  was  no  formal  beginning  to  the  letter;  it 

470 


THE    GAMBLER 

was  merely  a  statement  made  in  sharp,  uneven  char- 
acters, as  though  the  sender  had  written  under  great 
stress — great  emotion  or  resolve.     It  began: 

"  I  find  that  you  have  treated  me  with  an  unpardonable 
want  of  honor  and  want  of  truth  on  a  matter  that  concerned 
me  very  deeply — the  matter  of  Deerehurst;  and  it  seems  to 
me,  under  the  circumstances,  only  just  and  right  that  our 
engagement  should  come  to  an  end.  A  marriage  built  upon 
such  a  basis  could  only  have  one  termination.  If  this  seems 
hard  or  abrupt,  I  can  only  say  that  the  knowledge  of  my 
mistake  has  come  hardly  to  me.  I  shall  go  abroad  again  as 
soon  as  I  can  make  my  plans.  1  am  glad  to  think  that,  as 
no  one  but  your  sister  knew  of  our  engagement,  my  action 
can  cause  no  public  comment  or  unpleasantness  for  you. 

"Walter  Gore." 

Clodagh  read  the  lines  —  read  and  reread  them. 
For  the  first  time  in  her  life  her  quick  brain  failed 
to  respond  to  a  first  suggestion;  then,  at  last,  as 
though  the  cloud  that  obscured  her  mind  had  been 
rent  asunder,  conception  of  all  that  the  letter  con- 
veyed sprang  to  her  understanding. 

Walter  had  written  this  letter,  Walter  had  given 
her  up.  Her  face  became  very  white;  she  swayed  a 
little,  looking  about  her  vaguely,  as  if  for  some 
physical  aid;  then  suddenly  revolt  took  the  place  of 
panic.  It  was  all  some  horrible  mistake.  She  must 
go  to  him — rend  the  web  of  doubt  that  had  divided 
them — if  need  be,  humble  herself,  show  him  the  great- 
ness of  her  love,  until  he  must  condone — must  for- 
give— must  reinstate  her  in  his  heart. 

Moving  swiftly,  she  crossed  the  room  to  the  fire- 
place, drawing  out  her  watch  as  she  went.  With  a 
good  horse  she  might  still  catch  the  last  train  from 
Muskeere — take  the  night-mail  from  Cork  to  Dublin 
— cross  to  Holyhead  in  the  morning,  and  be  back  in 
London  to-morrow. 

471 


THE    GAMBLER 

She  lifted  her  hand  to  the  frayed  and  tasselled 
bell-rope  that  hung  from  the  ceiling ;  then,  by  a  strange 
impulse,  her  arm  dropped  to  her  side. 

When  her  journey  was  accomplished — when  she 
met  Gore — what  had  she  to  explain  ?  What  had  she 
to  confess?  The  tassel  of  the  bell-rope  slipped  from 
between  her  fingers. 

The  vision  of  herself  pleading  with  him  rose  vividly 
before  her.  She,  with  her  passionate  impulsiveness; 
he,  with  his  grave  dignity,  his  uncompromising  in- 
tegrity. She  recalled  the  peculiar  words  he  had 
made  use  of  on  the  day  he  had  discovered  Deerehurst's 
gift  of  flowers.  "I  should  either  believe  in  you — -or 
disbelieve  in  you."  His  critical  attitude  in  their 
first  acquaintance  started  to  life  at  the  remembrance 
of  the  words.  He  who  expected  of  others  what  he 
himself  performed.  He  who,  as  Nance  had  said, 
was  "so  honorable  himself."  How  would  he  re- 
ceive the  poor,  lame  story  she  had  to  offer  ?  A  horri- 
ble, confusing  dread  closed  in  about  her.  A  week 
ago  she  would  have  gone  forth  confidently  to  make 
her  confession ;  but  now  her  faith  was  less.  On  the 
night  in  Deerehurst's  study  she  had  tasted  of  the  tree 
of  knowledge — had  seen  things  as  men  see  them; 
and  her  fearlessness  had  been  shaken. 

She  looked  helplessly  round  the  bare  room  filled 
with  cold,  gray  light. 

No.  Walter  would  never  believe!  Walter  would 
never  believe!  The  knowledge  that  she  had  lied  to 
him  even  once  would  stand  l)etween  them,  condemn- 
ing her  hopelessly.  An  appalling  weight  seemed  to 
press  her  to  the  earth.  She  was  cut  adrift.  She 
was  separated  forever  from  all  safe,  sheltering  human 
things;  somewhere  in  the  dim,  far  regions  where  the 
decrees  of  fate  are  made — a  knell  had  been  sounded. 

472 


THI:    GAMBLIiR 

She  glanced  once  more  round  the  bare,  familiar 
room,  from  the  great  four-post  bedstead  to  the  long 
window  beyond  which  lay  the  green  fields,  the  wind- 
swept sky,  and  the  livid  line  of  the  sea;  then  suddenly 
she  turned,  and  fled  through  the  open  door  and  out 
into  the  empty  corridor. 

Asshlin  was  still  standing  in  the  hall  as  she  came 
down-stairs.  At  the  sound  of  her  approach  he  looked 
uj),  but  in  the  falling  twilight  he  noticed  nothing 
unusual  in  her  appearance. 

"We've  made  a  great  illumination,"  he  said. 
"Quite  a  blaze  of  light!" 

Clodagh  made  no  answer,  but,  descending  the  stairs 
quickly,  passed  into  the  dining-room. 

As  on  the  night  years  ago,  when  Milbanke  had 
come  to  Orristown,  the  old  room  was  prepared  to  do 
honor  to  a  guest.  The  table-cloth  was  laid,  places 
were  set  for  two,  and  the  great  silver  sconces  were 
filled  with  candles  that  glowed  so  brightly  that  even 
the  dark  portraits  on  the  walls  were  thrown  into 
relief.  But  no  fire  blazed  in  the  wide  grate  as  on 
the  former  occasion,  and  the  curtains  of  the  three 
long  windows  were  drawn  back,  admitting  the  light 
from  the  stormy  evening  sky. 

Clodagh 's  first  glance,  as  she  entered  the  room,  was 
for  these  windows,  and  her  first  words  concerned  them. 

"Larry,  draw  the  curtains,"  she  said. 

To  her  own  ears,  her  voice  seemed  to  come  from 
some  distant  place — to  sound  infinitely  thin  and  far 
away;  but  Asshlin  seemed  to  observe  nothing.  He 
went  forward  obediently  and  drew  the  six  long  cur- 
tains. 

As  the  last  was  pulled  into  place,  Burke  entered, 
and  carefully  laid  two  dishes  upon  the  table.  A 
moment  later  Clodagh  took  her  seat. 

473 


THE    GAMBLER 

"What  will  you  eat,  Larry?"  she  said,  hurriedly. 
"Chicken?     Ham?" 

Asshlin  turned  to  her  as  he  in  his  turn  took  his 
place. 

"  What  will  you  have  ?"  he  said. 

"I?  Oh— anything!  But  talk,  Larry!  Tell  me 
things!     Let's — let's  be  gay!" 

Asshlin  was  busy  cutting  up  the  chicken.  He  did 
not  hear  the  faintly  hysterical  note  that  underran  her 
voice — the  note  of  warning  from  a  mind  trying  with 
panic-stricken  haste  to  evade  itself. 

He  helped  her  to  some  chicken,  and  Burke,  laying 
the  plate  before  her,  went  in  search  of  wine. 

She  toyed  for  a  moment  or  two  with  the  food,  mak- 
ing pretence  to  eat. 

At  last  Larry  looked  at  her. 

"You're  eating  nothing.     Aren't  you  hungry?" 

She  started  nervously. 

"No;  I'm  not  hungry.  I — I  had  a  glass  of  milk 
in  my  room.  I  couldn't  wait  for  dinner."  She  tried 
to  laugh  as  she  told  the  falsehood. 

He  accepted  the  explanation. 

"Then  you  must  have  a  glass  of  wine  now,"  he 
said,  genially,  as  Burke  re-entered  with  a  dusty  bottle 
of  port.     "Give  me  the  bottle,  Burke." 

He  took  it  from  the  old  man's  hands,  and  poured 
some  wine  into  Clodagh's  glass,  and  as  he  leaned 
forward  he  suddenly  saw  by  the  light  of  the  candles 
that  her  eyes  were  wide  and  black,  her  face  very 
white. 

"Clo,  you're  not  feeling  ill?"  he  asked,  in  quick 
concern. 

Clodagh  put  her  hand  to  her  face  with  a  startled 
gesture. 

"No!     Do  I  look  ill?     It's  the  storm.     The  storm 

474 


THH    GAMBLliR 

has  got  on  my  nerves.     We  develop  nerves  in  Lon- 
don, you  know."     Again  she  attempted  to  laugh. 

Once  more  Asshlin  accepted  her  explanation  as 
something  he  had  no  authority  to  question. 

"I  want  you  to  talk,  Larry,"  she  added,  hurriedly. 
"I  want  you  to  talk.  Say  anything!  Take  me  out 
of  myself!" 

She  raised  her  glass  to  her  lij^s  and  drank  some  of 
the  wine.  It  brought  a  faint  tinge  of  color  to  her 
cheeks,  but  only  increased  the  bright  darkness  of 
her  eyes. 

While  Asshlin  consumed  his  dinner,  she  sat  very 
upright  in  her  chair,  sipping  her  wine  from  time  to 
time  or  breaking  small  mouthfuls  from  her  bread. 

At  last,  having  hovered  anxiously  about  her, 
Burke  made  bold  to  speak  his  thoughts. 

"Is  it  the  way  the  chicken  isn't  nice,  ma'am?"  he 
ventured. 

She  started,  as  she  had  started  each  time  she  had 
been  directly  addressed. 

"No,  Burke.  Oh  no!"  she  said,  hastily.  "The 
chicken  is  very  nice.  It's  only  that  the  stomi  has — 
has  given  me  a  headache." 

Burke  shook  his  head  sympathetically  as  a  sud- 
den gale  swept  round  the  house. 

"  'Tis  lookin'  for  a  bad  night,  sure  enough,"  he 
said,  as  he  passed  round  the  table  with  the  next 
course. 

When  the  pudding  had  been  served  and  partaken 
of  by  Asshlin,  Clodagh  at  last  pushed  back  her  chair, 
and,  with  a  curiously  unstrung  movement,  walked 
across  the  room  to  the  firej)lace. 

"Larry,"  she  said,  suddenly,  "will  you  play  cards 
with  me  when  Burke  takes  the  things  away?" 

Asshlin  looked  up  with  interest. 

475 


THE    GAMBLER 

"By  Jove!"  lie  said.     "What  a  good  idea!" 

When  Burke  reappeared,  solemnly  carrying  some 
cheese,  Clodagh  turned  to  him  quickly. 

"Is  there  a  pack  of  cards  in  the  house,  Tim?"  she 
asked. 

He  glanced  at  her  white  face  and  upright  figure, 
but  his  expression  betrayed  nothing. 

"I  do  be  thinkin'  there's  a  deck  some  place,  if  I 
could  lay  me  mind  on  it." 

Asshlin  leaned  across  the  table. 

"There's  a  pack  in  the  drawer  of  the  sideboard." 

Burke  crossed  the  room,  but  not  over -eagerly, 
and,  opening  the  drawer,  produced  the  cards. 

"  'Tis  the  deck  poor  Misther  Dinis  got  from  Cork 
the  self-same  day — "  he  began.  Then  he  stopped 
considerately,  and  added,  under  his  breath,  "The 
Almighty  God  be  good  to  us  all." 

Clodagh  took  the  cards  from  him,  and  stood  very 
still,  fingering  them  nervously.  At  any  other  time 
the  thought  of  playing  with  cards  that  belonged  to 
the  dead  would  have  filled  her  with  repugnance,  but 
to-night  all  ordinary  standards  had  been  lost — all 
the  world  was  chaos.  She  was  like  one  who  is  slipping 
down  into  a  bottomless  abyss,  and  stretches  desperate 
hands  towards  any  straw  that  might  offer  respite. 

She  never  changed  her  position  while  the  table  was 
being  cleared,  her  only  sign  of  emotion  still  being 
shown  by  the  spasmodic  way  in  which  she  passed  the 
cards  between  her  fingers.  When,  at  last,  the  cloth 
had  been  removed  and  the  candles  replaced,  she 
came  quickly  across  the  room  and  stood  looking 
down  upon  her  cousin. 

She  still  mechanically  sluiflflcd  the  cards;  but  her 
glance,  as  it  rested  on  Asshlin,  was  unconscious  and 
absorbed,  seeing  only  its  own  mental  pictures. 

476 


THE    GAMBLHR 

"What  shall  we  play,  Larry?  What  game  can 
two  people  play  ?" 

Asshlin  looked  up. 

"Piquet,"  he  said,  "or  euchre." 

She  nodded. 

"Euchre!  Yes,  euchre!"  She  drew  a  chair  up 
to  the  table  and  sat  down.     "What  stakes?" 

Asshhn  looked  uncertain. 

"You  say,"  he  suggested,  a  little  diffidently. 

She  gave  a  nervous  start,  as  a  fresh  gale  shook  the 
windows. 

"Thirty  shillings  a  game?  Twenty  shillings  a 
game?" 

For  an  instant  he  looked  at  her  amazed,  but,  seeing 
the  unconsciousness  of  her  expression,  his  breeding 
forbade  him  to  offer  any  objection.  With  a  reckless 
excitement  he  had  never  before  had  opportunity  to 
feel,  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and  taking  up  the 
glass  Burke  had  set  beside  him,  poured  out  some 
port  and  drank  it. 

"Thirty  shillings  a  game!"  he  said,  magnificently. 

Clodagh  did  not  seem  to  hear;  certainly  she  saw 
nothing  of  his  scruple  and  his  yielding.  Her  own 
thoughts  rode  and  spurred  her,  pressing  her  forward 
in  a  wild,  panic-stricken  search  for  oblivion. 

"Come,  Larry.  Play!  Play!  I  feel — "  she  paused 
and  laughed,  hysterically.  "I  feel  that,  if  I  were  a 
man  to-night,  I  should  drink  all  the  port  in  that  bottle. 
I  want  to  forget  everything.     Play!     Play!" 

Asshlin  picked  up  the  cards  that  she  had  laid 
upon  the  table.  He  could  not  understand  her  in  this 
new  mood  ;  but  he  was  satisfied  not  to  understand  her. 
He  felt  stimulated — lifted  above  himself — as  he  had 
never  been  before. 

For  two  hours  they  played,  with  luck  evenly  bal- 

477 


THE    GAMBLER 

anced ;  then  Asshlin  made  a  reluctant  attempt  to 
draw  out  his  watch. 

"Did  you  hear  that?"  he  said,  as  the  wind  roared 
up  from  the  sea  hke  an  invading  army.  "  I  ought  to 
be  getting  home.     She'll  be  worrying  about  me." 

He  spoke  firmly  enough,  but  his  eyes  wandered 
back  to  the  cards. 

Clodagh  rose,  and,  crossing  to  the  sideboard,  poured 
some  water  into  a  glass  and  drank  it. 

"No!  No!"  she  said,  eagerly.  "It's  quite  early. 
It's  only  eleven.     She  won't  expect  you  yet." 

He  put  his  watch  back  into  his  pocket;  Clodagh 
returned  to  her  place  at  the  table,  and  the  play  went 
on. 

By  twelve  o'clock  a  change  had  come  in  their 
positions.  Fortune  was  no  longer  impartial,  and 
Clodagh  stood  the  winner  by  several  games.  Again 
Asshlin  made  a  movement  towards  departure.  His 
face  was  flushed  now,  and  a  look  of  alarm  had  begun 
to  mingle  with  his  excitement. 

"  I — I  ought  to  be  going  now,  Clo,"  he  said,  a  little 
huskily. 

Clodagh  gave  a  sharp  laugh.  At  last  it  seemed  to 
her  that  she  was  drowning  thought — holding  at  bay 
the  black  sense  of  loss  and  agony  that  threatened  to 
inundate  her  soul.  She  threw  up  her  head,  and  her 
eyes  challenged  her  cousin's. 

"  You  are  a  coward  if  you  go  now,  Larry.  You  are 
afraid  to  take  your  revenge." 

He  colored  like  a  girl,  and  gave  a  half-angry,  half- 
embarrassed  laugh. 

"Don't  say  that,  Clo." 

"Then  will  you  play?" 

•'I— I  oughtn't  to." 

Again  Clodagh  laughed — a  laugh  so  nervous  and 

478 


THE    GAMBLER 

high-pitched  that  it  rang  ahnost  harshly  across  the 
room. 

"Then  you're  not  an  AsshUn." 

"Am  I  not?"  He  tilted  his  chair  forward  and 
leaned  upon  the  table.  "Let's  see.  Come  along. 
I'm  game  for  anything  after  that." 

There  was  a  new  note  in  his  voice — a  fier}''  note  that 
seemed  to  challenge  fate  and  throw  reason  to  the 
winds. 

It  stirred  some  latent  power  in  Clodagh's  brain. 
A  faint  color  crossed  the  pallor  of  her  face;  she  half 
rose  from  her  seat. 

"Shall  we  play  'Hke  the  devil,'  as  father  used  to 
say  r 

Asshlin  threw  up  his  head.  It  was  as  if  flint  and 
steel  had  struck — the  spark  followed  inevitably. 

"Yes,"  he  cried;  "we'll  play  like  the  devil!" 

At  one  o'clock  they  rose  from  the  table.  Clodagh's 
face  was  white  again,  but  Asshlin's  was  deeply  flushed ; 
and  as  he  stood  up,  confronting  his  cousin,  it  almost 
seemed  that  he  had  drunk  more  than  the  two  glasses 
of  port  to  which  the  bottle  testified. 

"I  must  go  now,  Clo,"  he  said.  "May  I  ring  for 
Burke  to  get  me  a  lantern  ?" 

Clodagh  took  a  step  forward. 

"Stay  the  night,  Larry.  You  can  have  father's 
room." 

He  shook  his  head  and  crossed  to  the  fireplace. 

"  I  owe  you  forty  pounds,"  he  said,  in  an  unsteady 
voice.  "I'll  leave  thirty  here" — he  drew  out  the 
notes  he  had  shown  her  at  Carrigmore,  and  laid  them 
under  the  clock  on  the  mantel-piece — "the  other  ten 
I'll — I'll  give  you  to-morrow." 

But  Clodagh  scarcely  heard. 

479 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Do  stay!     Oh,  do  stay!" 

Again  he  shook  his  head,  and  pulled  the  bell-rope. 

"  I've  put  the  notes  here — under  the  clock." 

"All  right!  All  right!  But,  Larry,  can't  you 
stay?     It's  a  horrible  night." 

"I  can't!"  Then,  as  the  door  opened  and  Burke 
appeared,  he  turned  to  him  hastily.  "Burke,  bring 
me  a  lantern.     I  want  to  get  the  boat  out." 

At  last  Clodagh's  mind  was  torn  from  its  own  con- 
cerns. 

"The  boat ?  You're  not  going  to  cross  the  bay  on 
a  night  like  this?" 

Old  Burke  .came  forward,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other. 

"Wisha,  Masther  Larry,  is  it  crazy  you  are?" 

Asshlin  turned  his  flushed  face  on  the  old  servant. 

"We're  all  a  bit  crazy  now  and  then,  Tim.  But 
I  was  never  afraid  of  the  sea.     Get  me  the  lantern." 

Still  Burke  hesitated.  But  suddenly  Asshlin 
stepped  forward  with  a  look  so  full  of  pride  and  dom- 
ination that  by  instinct  he  succumbed. 

"As  quick  as  you  can,  Burke." 

And  the  old  man  hobbled  off. 

There  was  silence  between  the  cousins  after  he  had 
gone.  Asshlin  leaned  upon  the  mantel-piece,  with 
his  face  averted;  Clodagh  walked  nervously  about 
the  room,  changing  the  arrangement  of  the  silver 
on  the  sideboard,  snuffing  the  candles  that  had  begun 
to  gutter,  doing  any  aimless  and  unnecessary  thing 
that  could  blur  her  sense  of  impending  solitude.  At 
last  she  paused  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
"Larry — "  she  began,  desperately. 
But  at  the  same  instant  Burke's  step  sounded  in 
the  hall,  and  his  voice  came  to  them  through  the 
open  door. 

480 


THE    GAMBLER 

"The  lanthern  is  here,  Masther  Larry." 

Asshlin  started. 

"All  right.  I'm  coming,"  he  called.  "Good-night. 
Clo!"  He  walked  forward  almost  awkwardly  and 
took  her  cold  hand. 

She  looked  up  into  his  face,  her  own  misery  blotting 
out  all  other  things. 

"Larry,  can't  you  stay?" 

Asshlin  passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead, 

"Don't  ask  me,  Clo.     Good-night." 

An  instant  later  he  was  gone. 

She  ran  out  into  the  hall  on  the  moment  that  she 
realized  her  desertion. 

"Larry!"  she  called.     "Larry!" 

But  her  voice  was  drowned  in  the  gale  as  Burke 
opened  the  hall-door  and  the  wind  rushed  in,  filling  the 
wide,  black  hall.  There  was  a  confused  suggestion  of 
storm  and  lantern-light;  a  vague  silhouetted  vision 
of  Burke,  bent  and  small,  and  of  Asshlm,  straight, 
hthe,  and  tall.  Then  the  door  closed  with  a  thud. 
Lantern,  figures,  and  storm  were  alike  shut  out  from 
her  knowledge.  She  was  alone  in  the  great  house. 
31 


XLVII 

Almost  at  the  same  hour  that  Clodagh  sat  down 
l\  to  play  cards  with  Laurence  AsshHn  at  Orristown/ 
Nance  was  seated  with  Daisy  Estcoit  in  the  lounge 
of  the  Carlton.  After  her  sister's  departure,  Mrs. 
Estcoit  had  borne  her  off  to  be  her  guest  at  the  hotel ; 
and  now  the  little  party  of  four  having  dined  in  the 
restaurant,  she  had  gone  to  her  room  to  discuss  a 
business  letter  with  her  son,  leaving  the  two  girls 
ensconced  under  one  of  the  big  palm-trees. 

It  was  very  pleasant  and  interesting  to  sit  there 
and  watch  the  groups  seated  on  the  low  couches 
beside  the  little  coffee-tables,  or  to  study  the  throng 
of  people  that  moved  constantly  through  the  large 
glass  doors  of  the  vestibule,  and  up  the  flight  of  shal- 
low steps  to  the  restaurant  itself,  with  its  shaded 
lights  and  pretty  artificial  garden.  The  crowd  was 
unusually  large  for  the  time  of  year;  the  band  was 
playing  a  waltz;  the  whole  atmosphere  seemed  gay 
and  happy  to  one  who  only  that  morning  had  per- 
formed a  great  act  of  love. 

"How  lovely  Hfe  is,  Daisy!"  Nance  said,  suddenly, 
unconsciously  echoing  Clodagh's  words  on  the  day 
of  Gore's  return  to  London. 

Daisy  Estcoit  laughed. 
•  "Of  course  it  is — with  a  trousseau  like  yours.     But 
look  over  there,  by  the  big  palm!" 

Nance  had  bent  to  rearrange  some  roses  in  her  belt. 

482 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Where?     What?"  she  said,  glancing  up. 

"Don't  you  see?" 

"No.     What?" 

"  Sir  Walter  Gore.  He  just  rushed  through  £ind  into 
the  restaurant.     He  seems  in  tremendous  haste." 

"Walter!     Where?"     Nance  looked  round  eagerly. 

"I've  just  told  you.  In  the  restaurant.  But 
here  he  is  back  again!  He  must  have  been  looking 
for  some  one." 

Nance  rose  from  the  quiet  corner  in  which  they 
were  sitting,  and  stepped  forward  to  greet  Gore;  but 
as  he  came  towards  her,  down  the  flight  of  shallow 
steps,  her  smile  of  welcome  died,  and  a  look  of  sur- 
prise and  concern  crossed  her  eyes. 

"Walter!"  she  said,  softly. 

He  looked  round  at  the  sound  of  his  name. 

"Oh,  Nance!"  he  said.  His  manner  was  as  quiet 
as  usual,  but  he  looked  like  a  man  who  has  undergone 
some  great  fatigue  and  has  not  yet  found  time  to 
rest. 

They  shook  hands  in  silence,  Nance's  dark-blue 
eyes  scanning  his  face. 

"Have  you  heard  from  Clo  ?"  she  said,  at  last. 
"I  have.     Such  a  dear  letter — written  in  the  train." 

He  flushed. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  laconically,  "I  have  heard.  But 
I  can't  wait  to  talk  about  the  letter  now.  I  only 
came  here  hoping  to  find  a  man  I  know;  they  told 
me  at  his  rooms  that  he  was  dining  here,  but  'twas 
evidently  a  mistake.     I  must  say  good-night." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  Nance  took  it  mechan- 
ically ;  but  as  their  fingers  fell  apart  she  stepped  for- 
ward and  walked  with  him  resolutely  across  the  lounge. 

In  the  vestibule  she  paused  and  compelled  him 
to  meet  her  eyes. 

483 


THE    GAMBLER 

"Walter,"  she  said,  "something  is  wrong." 

Gore's  face  hardened. 

"Nothing  is  wrong." 

She  tightened  her  fingers  round  the  fan  she  was 
carrying. 

"That  is  untrue,  Walter." 

Something  in  the  entire  candor  of  the  words  touched 
him.     He  looked  at  her  with  new  eyes. 

"You  are  right,"  he  said,  quietly.  "It  was  un- 
true." 

' '  Then  something  has  happened  ?  Something  about 
Clo?" 

"Yes.  Something — something  that  will  break  our 
engagement." 

Nance  turned  very  pale. 

"Walter!"  she  said,  faintly,  after  a  moment's 
pause.  Then,  before  he  could  speak  again,  she 
looked  up  at  him.  "Wait  for  a  minute!"  she  said, 
sharply.  "Wait  for  a  minute!"  And,  turning,  she 
hurried  back  to  where  Daisy  Estcoit  was  still  sitting, 

"Daisy,"  she  said,  "tell  Pierce  that  I  have  gone 
out  with  Walter,  and  that  I'll  be  back  in  half  an  hour. 
Tell  him  that  it's  something  most — most  important." 
She  spoke  hastily,  and,  without  waiting  to  see  the 
effect  of  her  words,  turned  again  and  threaded  her 
way  between  the  groups  of  people  back  to  where 
Gore  was  standing. 

"Call  a  cab,  Walter,"  she  said.     "We  must  talk." 

"But,  Nance—" 

"A  hansom,  please." 

She  turned  without  embarrassment  to  one  of  the 
attendants. 

"But,  Nance—" 

"You  cannot  refuse  me,  Walter.  Clo  is  every- 
thing in  the  world  to  me." 

484 


THE    GAMBLER 

Tlu-  jingle  of  harness  sounded  as  the  hansom  drew 
up ;  and,  walking  deliberately  forward,  she  got  into  the 
vehicle. 

"Tell  him  to  drive  anywhere  that  will  take  half 
an  hour,"  she  said  to  Gore,  as  he  reluctantly  followed. 

"Out  Holland  Park  way,"  he  said,  pausing  on  the 
step.     "  I'll  tell  you  when  to  stop." 

He  took  his  seat  and  closed  the  doors  of  the  cab, 

"  Won't  you  be  cold  without  a  wrap  ?" 

Nance  ignored  the  question. 

"Now!"  she  said.  "What  is  it?  Is  it  about 
Deerehurst  ?" 

At  the  sudden  onslaught  Gore  started,  and,  turn- 
ing round,  looked  at  her. 

"I  don't  intend  to  discuss  this  matter,"  he  said,  in 
his  coldest  voice. 

"But  I  mean  to  discuss  it."  She  met  his  glance 
with  a  resolution  that  was  not  to  be  denied.  "Is  it 
about  Deerehurst?" 

"If  you  wish  to  know,  it  is  about  Deerehurst." 

In  his  voice  there  was  all  the  reserve,  all  the  cold- 
ness of  the  Englishman  who  has  been  very  sorely 
wounded. 

"And  what  about  him?" 

Quite  suddenly  Gore's  reserve  flamed  to  anger. 

"Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  talk  of  such  things 
with  a  child  like  you?" 

Nance  clasped  her  hands  on  the  closed  doors  of  the 
cab,  formulating  a  sudden  prayer  that  help  might  be 
vouchsafed  her;  then  she  spoke,  with  eyes  fixed 
steadily  in  front  of  her. 

"I  am  not  a  child,  Walter,"  she  said,  in  a  very 
low  voice.  "And  you  must  speak  to  mc — for  Clo's 
sake.  And  if  you  won't,  then  I  must  tell  you  that 
1  know  all  about  her  staving  away  from  the  theatre 

485 


THE    GAMBLER 

the  other  night — about  her  having  no  headache,  but 
wanting  to  see  Deerehurst  —  about  her  going  to 
Carlton  House  Terrace  at  nine  o'clock — I  know  it 
all,  because  she  told  me." 

Gore  drew  a  quick,  amazed  breath. 

"  She  told  you  ?" 

She  nodded.     Her  throat  felt  very  dry. 

"Clodagh  told  you  that?" 

"Yes.     Who  told  youf" 

He  made  no  answer. 

"Walter,  was  it  Lady  Frances  Hope?" 

"What  does  that  matter?" 

"It  was  Lady  Frances." 

He  put  his  hand  wearily  over  his  eyes. 

"  If  you  wish  to  know,  it  was." 

"I  guessed  so.  I  always  hated  her.  The  other 
day,  as  we  drove  from  Paddington  after  seeing  Clo- 
dagh ofif,  we  passed  her  in  the  park  with  Valentine 
Serracauld.  He  must  have  seen  or  guessed,  or  heard 
from  Deerehurst  —  and  told  her.  He  is  an  enemy  of 
Clo's,  too,  since  the  time  at  Tuffnell.  "  Oh,  Walter!" 
She  turned  suddenly  and  looked  at  him.  "Walter, 
have  you  ever  really  known  Clodagh  ?" 

The  pain  and  question  in  her  voice  broke  through 
his  wounded  self-esteem. 

"Clodagh  has  made  a  fool  of  me,  Nance,"  he  said, 
harshly.  "She  has  never  been  straight  with  me — 
never  from  the  very  first." 

"And  do  you  know  why?" 

"No;  I  can't  pretend  that  1  know  why." 

His  tone  was  very  bitter. 

"Because  she  cares  too  much.  She  idealizes  too 
much." 

Gore  made  a  sound  that  nnght  have  been  meant 
for  a  laugh.  # 

486 


THE    GAMBLER 

"T  think  it  is  I  who  have  ideaHzed." 

Nance  straightened  her  small  figure. 

"Then  you  have  always  treated  her  wrongly. 
What  Clo  needs  is  not  to  be  idealized,  but  to  be 
taken  care  of.  Not  to  be  praised  or  blamed,  but  to 
be  taken  care  of."  Her  brown  fingers  were  tightly 
clasped  as  they  rested  on  the  cab  doors.  "All  her 
life  she  has  wanted  to  be  taken  care  of — and  all  her 
life  she  has  been  thrown  back  upon  herself.  When  I 
was  little  I  had  her,  but  when  she  was  little  she  had 
no  one.     Our  mother  died  when  I  was  born." 

Something  in  the  simple  pathos  of  this  statement 
stirred  Gore's  ever-present  sense  of  the  sacredness  of 
home  ties. 

"I  never  knew  that,"  he  said,  very  quietly. 

"Yes,  our  mother  died  when  I  was  born,  and  Clo 
grew  up  in  our  father's  care.  Did  she  ever  tell  you 
about  our  father?" 

"No.     At  least— " 

"Then  I  shall.  I've  told  Pierce.  People  ought  to 
know.     It  helps  them  to  understand. 

"Our  father  was  a  spendthrift  —  a  gambler  —  a 
man  without  any  principles.  If  somebody  stronger 
than  himself  had  taken  him  in  hand  when  he  was 
young,  things  might  have  been  different.  But  he  be- 
gan by  ruling  everybody  who  came  in  contact  with 
him,  until  at  last  nobody  dared  to  rule  him. 

"Can  you  imagine  how  a  man  like  that  would 
bring  up  a  daughter — you  who  had  a  mother  to  help 
you  in  every  year  of  your  life?" 

Her  blue  eyes  darkened  with  intensity. 

"Our  home  in  Ireland  is  a  big,  lonely  house  on  the 
sea-coast.  Imagine  growing  up  in  a  house  like  that, 
without  care  or  money  or  friends — for  father  drove 
all  his  friends  away.     Imagine  CIo's  life!     Her  only 

487 


THE    GAMBLER 

learning  was  what  she  got  with  our  cousin  from  the 
school-master  of  the  nearest  village;  her  only  amuse- 
ments were  sailing  and  riding  and  fishing.  She  never 
had  the  love  or  friendship  of  a  woman  of  her  own  class ; 
she  never  knew  what  it  was  to  be  without  the  dread 
of  debt  or  disgrace;  and  then,  at  eighteen,  she  mar- 
ried the  first  man  who  came  into  her  life — not  be- 
cause she  liked  him — not  because  she  wanted  to 
marry,  or  knew  what  marrying  was — but  because 
he  had  saved  our  father's  honor  by  paying  his  debt." 

She  paused  to  take  breath ;  but  before  Gore  could 
speak,  she  went  on  again. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  always  wonder,  Walter, 
when  I  think  of  Clodagh  ?" 

Gore  made  a  low  murmur. 

"I  wonder,  considering  everything,  that  she  hasn't 
done  really  wrong  things,  instead  of  just  terribly 
foolish  ones.  It  doesn't  seem  strange  to  me  that  she 
should  have  behaved  like  a  child,  when  she  first  felt 
what  it  was  to  be  free  and  flattered  and  admired. 
Listen,  Walter!  There  have  been  too  many  clouds 
between  you  and  Clodagh.  Neither  of  you  has  un- 
derstood. You  have  been  too  proud,  and  she  has  been 
too  much  afraid.     But  I  am  not  afraid." 

And  in  the  prosaic  London  cab,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
resolutely  on  the  heavy  copper  -  colored  sky  that 
hung  above  the  house-tops,  Nance  performed  her 
second  act  of  love.  While  Gore  sat  silent,  she  poured 
forth  the  whole  mistaken  tale  of  Clodagh's  life, 
from  the  days  in  Venice  to  the  hour  of  her  departure 
for  Ireland.  She  omitted  nothing;  she  extenuated 
nothing.  With  a  strange  instinct  towards  choice 
of  the  right  weapons,  she  fought  for  her  sister's 
future.     Everything  was  told — Lady  Frances  Hope's 

488 


THE    GAMBLER 

poisoning  of  Clodagh's  mind  against  Gore  himself — 
the  scene  with  SerracauUl  in  the  card-room — all  the 
temptations,  all  the  follies,  confessed  in  the  darkness 
of  the  nights  at  TufTnell,  and  in  Clodagh's  own  bed- 
room on  the  night  she  visited  Deerehurst.  It  was 
the  moment  for  speech,  and  slie  spoke.  Her  own 
shyness,  her  own  natural  reticence  were  swept  aside 
by  the  great  need  of  one  who  was  infinitely  dear. 
The  scene  at  Carlton  House  Terrace  she  described 
without  flinching;  for  candor  and  innocence  move 
boldly  where  lesser  virtues  fail  and  falter.  She  told 
the  story  with  a  simple  truth  that  was  more  dig- 
nified than  any  hesitancy. 

When  at  last  she  had  finished,  Gore  sat  for  a  space, 
very  silent  and  with  bent  head;  then  abruptly,  as  if 
inspired  by  a  sudden  resolution,  he  put  up  his  hand 
to  the  trap  in  the  roof. 

"The  nearest  telegraph-office!"  he  called,  as  the 
cabman  looked  down. 

The  man  whipped  up  his  horse;  but  Nance  turned 
sharply. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"To  wire  to  Clodagh." 

"To  Clodagh?" 

"Yes." 

"  But  Clodagh  doesn't  know!  Walter,  you  haven't 
told  Clodagh?     Walter!" 

Gore  bent  his  head.  "  I  wrote  to  her  the  night  I 
saw  Frances  Hope,"  he  said.  "She  had  my  letter 
this  morning." 

"This  morning!"  It  was  impossible  to  fathom 
the  pain  and  alarm  in  Nance's  voice.  "What  did 
you  write?" 

"Very  little.  Just  that  I  knew  about  Deerehurst 
— that  I  thought  it  1)etter  we  should  not  marry." 

489 


THE    GAMBLER 

"And  she  got  that  letter  this  morning?  She  has 
been  hours  and  hours  and  hours  alone,  believing  that 
you  don't  love  her — that  she  is  left  utterly  by  her- 
self?    Oh!" 

"Nance,  don't.     I'm  sufficiently  ashamed." 

Nance  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes. 

"I'm  not  thinking  of  you!"  she  said,  cruelly. 

"I  know.  But  remember,  there's  the  wire.  We 
can  still  wire.  I  shall  tell  her  that  you  and  I  are 
coming  for  her  to  Ireland — that  she  will  never  be 
alone  again." 

Nance's  hand  dropped. 

"But  you  don't  understand!"  she  cried.  "No 
telegram  can  reach  her  to-night.  It  will  only  get  to 
Carrigmore  to-morrow  morning — and  from  there  to 
Orristown.  If  we  were  to  give  everything  we  have 
in  the  world — if  we  were  to  die  for  it — we  could  not 
save  her  from  the  blackness,  the  loneliness,  and  hor- 
ror of  to-night!" 


XLVIII 

EARLY  on  the  morning  that  followed  the  storm, 
Clodagh  stepped  from  the  hall  -  door  of  Orris- 
town.  As  she  stood  on  the  gravelled  pathway  in 
the  clear,  strong  daylight,  she  looked  like  one  who 
has  fought  some  terrible  battle  in  the  watches  of  the 
night,  and  who  has  been  worsted  in  the  encounter. 
She  was  pale  and  fragile,  with  a  frightened  query 
in  her  eyes,  as  though  she  had  propounded  some 
enormous  question,  to  which  fate  had  as  yet  made 
no  answer.  For  a  time  she  stood  in  a  helpless  atti- 
tude, looking  towards  the  green  hill,  crowned  with 
sparsely  foliaged  trees,  that  fronted  the  house;  then, 
seeming  to  take  some  vague  resolution,  she  walked 
slowly  forward  towards  the  avenue,  pausing  where 
the  gravelled  pathway  joined  the  fields. 

There  was  a  curious  look  upon  the  land  and  sea 
that  morning,  as  though  both  were  lying  exhausted 
by  the  tumult  of  the  night.  All  around  beneath  the 
avenue  trees  lay  twigs  and  short,  splintered  branches 
to  which  the  limp  leaves,  whipped  to  untimely  death 
by  the  vehemence  of  the  storm,  still  hung.  Across 
the  bay,  as  far  as  Carrigmore,  the  sea  lay  like  a  sleep- 
ing tiger  that  has  prowled  and  harried  through  the 
dark  hours  of  night,  and  now  lies  at  rest.  A  wonder- 
ful pearly  blue  was  upon  the  waters — long,  rippling 
lines  spread  from  headland  to  headland,  like  faintly 
pencilled  shadows ;  but  massed  in  a  dark  fringe  along 

491 


THE    GAMBLER 

the  curve  of  yellow  strand  was  a  ridge  of  packed  sea- 
weed that  held  within  its  meshes  a  thousand  evi- 
dences of  the  strife  that  had  been,  in  twists  of  straw, 
pieces  of  broken  cork,  and  long,  black  chunks  of  drift- 
wood. 

She  stood  for  an  indefinite  space,  looking  at  this 
significant  dark  line  standing  out  against  the  smooth- 
ness of  the  sand,  until,  half-unconsciously,  her  at- 
tention was  attracted  by  a  sound  that  made  itself 
audible  from  the  direction  of  the  gate,  growing  in 
volume  as  it  advanced  —  the  swish,  swish  of  bare 
feet  on  soft  ground.  She  turned  from  the  vision  of 
the  sleeping  sea,  to  behold  a  small  peasant  child  in 
torn  dress  and  dirty  apron  speeding  up  the  drive. 

The  child  neared  her;  then  swerved  away  as  if  in 
fear,  and  continued  her  flight  towards  the  house. 

A  sudden  impulse  seized  Clodagh. 

"Come  here,"  she  called.  "Where  are  you  go- 
ing?" 

For  an  instant  the  child  looked  too  frightened  to 
speak;  then  her  lips  parted. 

"  Misther  Asshlin  —  bey  ant  at  Carrigmore!"  she 
said,  inarticulately;  and,  turning,  she  fled  onward  to 
the  house. 

Clodagh  stood  still  for  a  moment,  then  she  also 
turned  and  recrossed  the  gravelled  pathway. 

She  walked  forward,  scarcely  feeling  the  ground 
beneath  her  feet.  Her  heart  beat  fast;  a  cold  pre- 
monition ran  through  her,  chilling  her  blood.  Some- 
thing was  about  to  happen.  The  inertia  that  lay 
upon  her  mind  was  to  be  shattered.  Something  was 
about  to  happen. 

As  she  reached  the  hall -door  she  saw  the  child 
vanish  into  the  stable-yard  by  the  small,  latched  door 
in  the  great  wooden  gate ,  and  saw  Mick,  escaped  from 

492 


THE    GAMBLER 

confinement,  come  careering  towards  her.  IBut  for 
once  she  took  no  heed  of  tlie  dog's  manifestations; 
scarcely  even  noticing  that  he  followed  her,  she  passed 
into  the  hall,  and  from  thence  to  the  dining-room. 
There  she  stood  for  a  long  time  listening — listening 
intently.  At  last  the  sound  she  instinctively  waited 
for  reached  her — the  sound  of  a  low,  wailing  cry. 
With  a  frightened  gesture  she  put  her  hands  over  her 
face;  then  let  them  drop  to  the  back  of  a  chair  that 
stood  beside  the  centre-table. 

She  stood  holding  weakly  to  this  chair,  her  limbs 
trembling,  her  face  white,  while  the  wailing  sound 
drew  nearer,  growing  more  spasmodic  as  it  approach- 
ed. At  last  the  door  was  thrust  wide  open  and 
Hannah  burst  into  the  room,  her  face  blanched,  tears 
streaming  from  her  eyes,  her  whole  air  demoralized. 

"Miss  Clodagh,  Masther  Larry!"  she  muttered,  in- 
articulately— "Masther  Larry!" 

Clodagh  held  to  the  back  of  the  chair. 

"What  is  it.?" 

"Gone!     Drownded!" 

Clodagh  swayed  a  little. 

"Drowned!"  she  echoed,  in  a  faint  voice. 

"He  niver  went  home  at  all  last  night.  And  to- 
day mornin'  they  found  the  little  boat  capsized 
bey  ant  at  the  head.  Oh,  God  help  the  poor  mother! 
What  '11  the  poor  woman  do  at  all  ?" 

"  Drowned!"  Clodagh  said  again.  "Drowned!  Larry 
drowned!" 

Hannah  stepped  forward,  as  though  she  expected 
her  to  fall;  but  she  motioned  her  away. 

"How  did  it  happen?"  she  asked,  in  a  vague,  thin 
voice. 

"  'Twas  the  storm!     Sure,  'twas  the  storm!" 

"But  Larry  was  the  best  sailor  in  Carrigmore!" 

493 


THE    GAMBLER 

She  said  the  words  involuntarily,  but  as  they  left 
her  lips  they  brought  into  being  a  new  thought. 
She  stood  upright,  and  by  a  strange,  slow  process  of 
suggestion,  her  eyes  travelled  to  the  mantel-piece 
where  the  bundle  of  notes  still  protruded  from  under 
the  clock. 

What  if  Larry  had  quailed  before  the  thought  of 
confessing  his  losses  to  the  querulous  mother,  who 
could  so  ill  spare  the  money  he  had  squandered? 
What  if  Larry  had  not  fought  the  storm  last  night 
as  it  might  have  been  fought?  She  suddenly  con- 
templated last  night's  play  from  Larry's  point  of 
view — contemplated  Larry's  losses  by  light  of  the 
hard  monetary  straits  that  Ireland  breeds. 

Her  blood  seemed  to  turn  to  water;  she  felt  like 
one  beyond  the  pale  of  human  emotion  or  superhuman 
help. 

"Leave  me  to  myself,  Hannah,"  she  said,  faintly. 
"I  want  to  be  alone." 

"Lave  you?     But,  my  darlin' — " 

"I  must  be  alone." 

Hannah  looked  at  her  in  agonized  concern. 

"Miss  Clodagh — "  she  began.  But  something  in 
Clodagh's  stony  quiet  daunted  her;  she  gave  a  muffled 
sob,  and  moved  slowly  across  the  room. 

Clodagh  was  conscious  of  the  wailing  sounds  of 
grief  for  several  minutes  after  she  had  disappeared; 
then  gradually  they  faded  as  she  descended  into  the 
lower  regions,  to  share  the  appalling  and  yet  grimly 
fascinating  news  with  Burke  and  the  farm-laborers. 

When  full  consciousness  that  she  was  alone  came 
to  Clodagh,  she  let  her  hands  drop  from  the  back  of 
the  chair;  and,  moving  stiffly,  crossed  the  room  to 
the  fireplace. 

She  made  no  attempt  to  touch  the  notes  that  lay 

494 


THE    GAMBLER 

as  Asshlin  had  placed  them;  but  she  looked  at  them 
for  long  with  a  species  of  horror.  And  at  last,  as 
though  the  thought  of  them  had  begotten  other 
thoughts,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  the  picture  hanging 
above  them — the  picture  of  Anthony  Asshlin  in  his 
lace  ruffles  and  black  satin  coat,  with  his  powdered 
hair,  his  gallant  bearing,  and  dark,  eager  face. 

The  eyes  of  the  picture  seemed  to  look  into  her 
own  eyes  with  an  almost  human  smile  of  satire. 
Innumerable  years  had  passed  since  that  reckless 
presence  had  filled  the  old  room;  dice  and  duelling 
were  gone  out  of  fashion ;  but  human  nature  was 
unchanged — there  were  still  Asshlins  of  Orristown. 

"Oh,  God — "  she  said,  aloud;  then  she  stopped. 
"There  is  no  God!"  she  added,  wildly.  "There  is  no 
God!" 

At  the  sudden  sound  of  her  voice,  Mick  rose  from 
the  corner  where  he  had  been  crouching.  The  sight 
of  the  dog  calmed  her;  she  passed  her  hand  once  or 
twice  across  her  eyes,  then  walked  quite  steadily 
across  the  room. 

He  followed  her  closely ;  but  at  the  door  she  stopped 
and  looked  at  him. 

"No,  Mick!     You  cannot  come." 

By  some  extraordinary  sagacity  the  animal  whim- 
pered and  pressed  closer  to  her  skirt. 

With  a  fierce  impulse  she  stooped,  kissed  him  once, 
then,  holding  him  back,  slipped  through  the  door 
and  closed  it. 

He  gave  a  frantic  bark  of  misery,  but  she  did  not 
pause,  she  did  not  even  look  back.  Walking  rap- 
idly, she  passed  across  the  hall  and  out  into  the 
open. 

Turning  to  the  right,  she  skirted  the  stable-vard 
and  the  orchard,  and,  hurrying  past  the  spot  where 

495 


THE    GAMBLER 

years  ago  Milbanke  had  asked  her  to  be  his  wife,  took 
the  path  to  the  Orristown  chffs. 

Her  thoughts  trooped  up  Hke  Hving  things  as  she 
stumbled  forward  along  the  uneven  track.  She  was 
conscious  of  no  fear,  only  of  a  desolating  loneliness — 
an  enormous  sense  of  futility,  of  finality.  Last  night 
she  had  looked  into  the  eyes  of  fate,  propounding  the 
question  of  how  she  was  to  carry  on  her  life,  and  to- 
day she  had  read  the  answer  in  the  face  of  the  por- 
trait. 

She  hurried  on  unseeingly,  covering  the  same 
track  that  her  father  had  covered  on  the  night  when 
he  had  ridden  out  and  met  death  on  the  dark  head- 
land. 

From  time  to  time  she  stopped  and  looked  at  the 
sea — looked  at  the  long  curve  of  shining  beach  with 
its  margin  of  dark  wreckage — looked  at  the  clustering 
cottages  of  Carrigmore,  and  marvelled  in  a  dumb 
way  at  the  tragedy  that  could  underlie  so  calm  a 
scene. 

She  had  none  of  the  nervous  panic  that  had  assailed 
her  the  night  before.  She  was  conscious  of  nothing 
but  a  black  despair- — a  despair  such  as  Denis  Asshlin 
had  been  wont  to  drown  in  drink  and  cards.  She 
had  lived  her  Hfe;  she  had  had  her  chance;  and  the 
end  was  failure.  She  had  tangled  the  threads  of 
her  existence;  and  the  one  hand  that  could  have  un- 
ravelled the  tangle  was  closed  against  her. 

One  thought  alone  she  rigorously  refused  to  har- 
bor— the  thought  of  Nance.  Nance  would  have  her 
husband — Nance  would  have  her  home,  she  assured 
herself.  Nance  would  forget.  In  vain  the  remem- 
brance of  her  faithful  loyalty  rose  to  make  the  as- 
surance doubtful.  As  she  had  closed  the  door  upon 
Mick,  she  closed  her  heart  to  the  knowledge. 

496 


THE    GAMBLER 

There  were  certain  hours  in  every  Hfe,  she  told 
herself,  when  the  soul  judged  the  body.  Judged  and 
forgave,  or  judged  and  condemned.  Her  shaken 
mind  drove  her  feet  faster  along  the  rugged  track — 
faster  —  faster,  as  though  Nemesis  pursued  her. 
Terrible  visions  rose  from  the  sea,  creeping  over  the 
cliff's  edge — visions  of  Larry,  stiff  and  dead,  as  she 
had  seen  her  father;  as  she  had  seen  Milbanke — 
visions  of  the  cottage  at  Carrigmore;  of  her  aunt's 
dark  room,  filled  with  the  sound  of  lamentation. 

Before  she  was  aware  of  it  she  passed  round  a 
curve  of  the  path  and  came  full  upon  the  scene  of 
her  father's  accident.  She  paused,  gave  a  faint  gasp, 
and  involuntarily  put  her  hand  to  her  throat.  Her 
destination  was  nearer  than  she  had  thought. 

In  a  vague,  startled  way  her  eyes  scanned  the  place, 
roving  from  the  chasm  in  the  cliff  to  the  sweep  of 
short  grass,  with  its  tufting  of  hardy  flowers  that 
throve  in  the  strong,  salt  air.  It  was  also  still — 
so  extraordinarily  still.  Fifty  yards  away  a  goat 
browsed  on  the  cliff,  and  the  quiet,  cropping  sound 
of  its  eating  came  to  her  distinctly;  overhead  in  the 
pale-blue  sky  a  hawk  was  poised,  seemingly  motion- 
less; down  below  her,  three  hundred  feet  away,  the 
sea  made  a  curious  sucking  noise,  as  it  filled  and  re- 
ceded from  some  invisible  fissure  in  the  rocks. 

Still  with  her  hand  to  her  throat  she  tiptoed  for- 
ward to  the  edge  of  the  chasm.  Then  suddenly  she 
drew  back,  trembling  and  giddy.  Beneath  her,  at 
what  looked  an  incredible  distance,  the  clear  green 
waters  formed  a  narrow  estuary,  shadowed  by  the 
towering  rocks.  They  were  like  a  grave,  those 
waters  —  so  secret,  so  full  of  mystery.  Again  she 
forced  herself  to  look,  compelling  her  unwilling  eyes 
to  travel  up  and  down  the  great  sweep  of  red  sand- 
al 497 


THE    GAMBLER 

stone,  from  the  grass  at  the  edge  of  the  abyss  to  the 
dark  water,  from  the  water  back  again  to  the  grass. 

She  would  not  be  a  coward  in  this  last  moment. 
She  had  never  been  a  physical  coward. 

She  stepped  back;  she  took  one  dazed  look  at  the 
world  that,  until  yesterday,  had  been  so  very  fair; 
she  drew  one  long,  shuddering  breath,  closed  her 
eyes,  and  went  forward. 

But  at  her  first  step,  something  or  some  one  came 
rushing  down  the  cliff  behind  her.  She  gave  a  terri- 
fied cry,  opened  her  eyes,  and  recoiled  from  the  chasm. 
A  moment  later  she  had  turned,  trembHng,  crying, 
utterly  unnerved,  to  find  Mick  leaping  round  her. 

"Mick!"  she  said,  tremulously.  "Mick!"  Then 
a  voice  called  to  her,  and,  looking  up,  she  saw  Hannah, 
her  hair  dishevelled,  her  eyes  still  streaming,  the  yel- 
low envelope  of  a  telegram  held  in  the  corner  of  her 
apron. 

"The  fright  you  gave  me.  Miss  Clodagh!"  she  be- 
gan. "Sure,  I'd  niver  find  you  at  all  only  for  the 
dog." 

Then  she  stopped,  looking  sharply  at  her  mistress. 

"Miss  Clodagh,  what  is  it  all?  Come  home;  come 
home,  my  lamb!"  Her  voice,  husky  from  tears, 
dropped  suddenly. 

But  Clodagh  still  stood  white  and  shaking;  she  had 
been  too  near  the  verge  to  be  easily  recalled. 

"Sure,  God's  ways  are  quare,  but  'tisn't  for  us  to 
be  judgin';  maybe  he's  saved  worse.  Miss  Clodagh! 
Keep  thinkin'  that.     Maybe  he's  saved  worse." 

Clodagh  covered  her  eyes. 

"But  here's  somethin'  for  you.  God  help  us,  I 
was  forgettin'!  "Will  you  be  seein'  what  is  in  it?" 
She  came  slowly  forward,  extending  her  arm. 

Clodagh  took  the  telegram.     Without  thought  or 

498 


THE    GAMBLER 

interest  she  tore  it  open,  and  her  eyes  passed  mechan- 
ically over  the  written  words.  Then  suddenly  it 
slipped  from  between  her  fingers,  blew  a  little  way 
across  the  close  grass,  and  fluttered  down  over  the 
edge  of  the  cliff. 

As  it  disappeared  she  turned.  Her  face  was  en- 
tirely without  color;  her  eyes  had  the  dazed  look  of 
one  who  is  confronted  with  a  great  light. 

"Hannah!"  she  cried.  "Hannah!  There  is  a 
God,  after  all!  There  is  a  God!"  She  swayed  sud- 
denly, and  the  old  servant,  rushing  forward,  caught 
her  in  her  arms. 


THE    END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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